


Contested (or: Flowers in the Backseat)

by ashley_ingenious



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cop Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, I don't know how to tag this AT ALL tbh, M/M, divorce attorney Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashley_ingenious/pseuds/ashley_ingenious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teetering on the edge of divorce, Stiles and Derek try to figure out if they really have what it takes to make their marriage work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Say Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DevilDoll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilDoll/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Contested (or: Flowers in the Backseat)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487294) by [Sara_Kain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sara_Kain/pseuds/Sara_Kain)



> 1) Beta'd by me, so all mistakes are my own. Point them out so I can fix them, please! Concrit welcome, also. 
> 
> 2) This is based of Devildoll's Full moon ficlet [Contested](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/76621122878/contested), which you should probably read first for maximum understanding. 
> 
> 3) In this particular universe, I made Allison a Hale.

Stiles couldn't sleep. He'd started with tossing and turning, rolling his body this way and that, before he settled. Then he was up again, fluffing and punching his pillow before he flopped back down. Less than ten seconds later, he was at it again, shifting and grumbling and trying to get comfortable.

Derek wanted to reach out and touch him, the way he used to when Stiles had a bad day. He'd gather him close and work patterns into his skin until the younger man settled. Sometimes it turned into something more, and sometimes it didn't. But they were close, and that used to be all that mattered.

Now, Derek didn't know what Stiles needed. The desire to reach out and touch him was tempered by the fear that his touch wouldn't be welcome. Maybe Stiles wanted him to leave? They hadn't slept in the same bed in a while, maybe he just wasn't used to it anymore. That stung, but it was reasonable. But if Derek left, maybe Stiles would think that Derek thought he was a bother? And that wasn't the case at all. Even with all his fidgeting, there was nowhere the older man would rather be than this bed, with his husband.

Still, Derek felt he had to say _something_. It was ridiculous that they were both wide awake in bed together, not touching, or talking or _anything_. They'd been cautious around each other since the incident at Derek's office two weeks prior. There hadn't been any more talk of divorce, but there hadn't been anything else, either. Derek was doing some research, and he thought he might know what their next step was, but he'd been hesitant to come to Stiles without a fully formed plan.

He realized now that holding back may have been a mistake.

"Our last therapist was an idiot," he blurted out into the night, and Stiles rolled over, eyes cracking open and catching on the moonlight spilling in through the window.

"What?" He grunted, irritated.

Derek sighed, but repeated, "Our last therapist was an idiot. He just kept repeating everything you said, and saying 'hmmm,' like an asshole. We paid him two hundred dollars an hour for that. He was an idiot."

Stiles turned over fully now, propping himself up on an elbow so that he was looking down at Derek. "Well, I didn't see you looking for counselors. Which is actually ridiculous seeing as you're the divorce attorney and it's way closer to your field than mine."

"No, I," Derek rolled his eyes and propped himself up against the pillows, scrubbing a hand over his face. "That's not what I meant. It's not your fault he was an idiot, Stiles. I'm just saying, he was. And I think...if we want to make this work which, we do, right?"

It sounded small and desperate, and Derek hated himself for the fact that he wasn't sure. This was the same man he'd eaten ramen noodles with for six months, while they saved up money for furniture in their first ever apartment. This was the man who used to come visit him on his lunch break for quickies in the janitor's closet. This was the same man who'd sat in his office two weeks before and listed perfectly valid reasons for filing for divorce. And Derek didn't want that, but Stiles had looked so defeated that night, that Derek didn't know if he'd agreed because he wanted to make it work, or just because he didn't want to fight again.

So he held his breath and waited.

It took too long, and every second of it hurt, but eventually, Stiles nodded his head. "Yeah. Yeah, Der, we want to make it work." He didn't sound convinced, though, and he fell back against the pillows, looking up at the ceiling and running a hand through his hair.

Derek let out the breath that had been burning in his chest. "Right. Since we want to make it work, I think we need some help. Counseling was a good idea. But our therapist was an idiot. So, we should try it again with another one."

"Fine. That's fine. You can figure it out this time, though. I did it last time." Stiles huffed, shuffling over to his side, so that he was facing away from Derek.

"That's...yeah, I'm already looking into it, actually," he mumbled.

Stiles turned back over to stare at him. "You are?"

Derek nodded, "Yeah. I've got it narrowed down to two? Tons of good recommendations from uh, from former clients." _People who'd consulted a divorce attorney but then decided against it_ , "I'm gonna make some calls tomorrow. I was wondering, for when I pick one, if there's a day that works best for you?"

It would be harder for Derek, they both knew. Since his last promotion, Stiles' schedule had calmed down considerably. He was off by six most days, and sometimes he got called back in, or stayed out for drinks with the force, but he definitely had the more flexible of their two schedules.

"Pick a day," he grumbled, "I'll make it work."

Derek nodded into the dark, "Cool."

Stiles hummed agreement as he turned away again.

"Do you want me to go?" The older man asked, and Stiles growled back at him.

"You realize it's two in the morning, right? We _never_ fucking talk this much, Der. I just wanna go to sleep."

"You weren't sleeping though. You were tossing, and I'm up because you're up."

"Well excuse me for trying to get comfortable in my own fucking--"

"That's not what I _meant_ , Stiles." Derek barked back, raising his voice to be heard. He sighed, defeated. "I just meant, I know we don't sleep together often. And if I'm what's keeping you up, I can sleep in the study?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and laid back down. Reaching out, he wrapped long, graceful fingers around Derek's wrist and closed his eyes.

"Shut up, Der," he groused. "Sleep, okay?"

Derek shifted, laying back down in the bed, careful not to break Stiles' light hold on his wrist.

"Okay," he murmured, biting back a grin, "Goodnight, Stiles."

"Goodnight, Derek."

_I love you, Stiles._

He didn't say it, anymore. He'd never said it enough in the first place, really. But now he lived with the crippling fear that Stiles might not say it back, that he might not feel the same way anymore. He didn't know how he'd live in the knowledge that he was in love all by himself, so he didn't take the risk.

It wasn't long before Stiles breathing evened out into the steady rise and fall of sleep. Derek still wanted to wrap him up close, to breathe him in. He wanted Stiles to be the first thing he heard, saw, felt, smelled, and tasted when his eyes opened in the morning, but he still didn't know how to get them back there, or even where to start.

* * *

 

Finding a competent marriage counselor had proved easier than Derek was expecting it to. He'd started looking the day after Stiles had inquired about a divorce and everyone he'd spoken to (which was a lot of people, Stiles was right, it was kind of Derek's business to know marriage counselors) had given him one of two names: Danny Mahealani or Lydia Martin.

Apparently, Mahealani was kind and considerate, he doled out tough love occasionally, but mostly he figured most marital problems worked themselves out with enough neutral ground and understanding. Sometimes, people just needed a mediator. It also helped that Danny himself was gay, and in a long term relationship with a stock broker by the name of Jackson Whittemore.

In any case, he was leaning toward Dr. Mahealani, so much so that he called to schedule a phone consultation. With the accuracy of someone who dealt with divorce on an everyday basis, he explained the problems that Stiles had listed out to him, and then his own doubts and fears and desires to make it right.

The doctor had hummed and commented intermittently, but when Derek was done taking he'd said, "Well, it sounds like you need Lydia Martin."

Dr. Lydia Martin had been described as ruthless, vicious, cutthroat, efficient and effective. She had plans, detailed plans with weekly exercises and worksheets and questionnaires. Her methods sounded cold and clinical to Derek, and he didn't see how filling out a worksheet was supposed to get him his marriage back. He expressed those fears to Dr. Mahealani, who chuckled.

"I agree," he'd said, "she's not necessarily my style, either. But two years back, my husband and I needed some help, and we went to Lydia, because she's the best." He said this firmly, like it was important that Derek understood. "And now? Jackson and I are better than we've been in years. The difference between the first session and the second was massive. I really think, with everything you've told me, Lydia's your best option. Try her out. Tell you what, if it doesn't work out, come to me, your first session will be free."

And just like that, it was decided. They'd be seeing Lydia Martin.

* * *

 

At 5'3", one might think it was difficult for a young, redheaded female therapist to command respect from two grown men over six feet, but Lydia did it anyway.

Her office was decorated in calming beiges and blues, and she sat in a comfortable looking leather chair, stunning view of the city behind her. She wore her hair down, and she didn't smile, just kept glancing back and forth between her notepad and the two men sitting in front of her. Finally, she set the pad down, and shot them a blinding smile.

"You two seem to know each other very well." She said, motioning towards their questionnaires, "How long have you been together?"

"Fifteen years," Derek piped up, immediately.

Stiles looked at him with wide eyes. He'd leaned forward and his mouth was open to speak. Derek quirked an eyebrow at him, and Stiles leaned back in his chair, smirking and gesturing for Derek to go on.

Their doctor observed the exchange with interest. "Do you mind if I ask how you met?"

Derek nodded. This, he could do. Apparently it was important to Stiles that he _talk_ during these sessions, and he figured this was a good place to start: he'd been there, after all. "His best friend dated my younger sister for a while when they were in high school."

"Really?" Lydia asked, congenially, and Derek couldn't tell if her interest was real or not, "how old were you, at the time?"

"He was 15, I was 18. He was a sophomore in high school and I was a freshman in college." Lydia smiled as Stiles raised his hand. "I'm sorry. I don't wanna, but can I cut in here, for a second?"

Lydia nodded at him and the younger man sighed, turning in his chair to look at Derek. "I was sixteen, you were nineteen. Junior and sophomore years, respectively." His gaze shifted to Lydia, "We've been together for twelve years, because he wouldn't so much as look at me for too long until after my birthday- my dad's the sheriff- and we've known each other for fourteen."

Derek flushed scarlet. The tips of his ears and his cheeks were burning. Jesus, how had Stiles stayed with him this long? He couldn't even remember how they'd _met_.

"Let's get names, it'll make it easier to tell the story. Derek, what's your sister's name?" Lydia prompted gently.

"Allison," he choked out in reply.

"And Stiles' best friend?" She asked, and while it really should be a question for Stiles, he knew she was talking to him. "Scott," he replied, throat a little less tight. He'd gotten two answers right. Apparently he wasn't a complete and total fuck up.

"The best friend and the big brother. Kind of typical, actually. Let me guess, Scott and Allison didn't last till graduation?"

Stiles barked out a laugh. "Scott and Allison didn't last till summer. They tried though. Can't say they didn't try."

Lydia nodded and leaned forward, like she was enjoying the story. "And was the breakup spectacular?"

Derek nodded. "Like a damn fireworks show. They tore each other apart."

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, and Lydia straightened. "Okay, gentlemen, rule number one. We won't draw parallels to other couples while we're in this office. It's an easy conclusion to jump to, but I guarantee you they aren't as relevant as you think. Here, I'll prove it. How long, exactly, where Scott and Allison together?"

"Eight months?" Derek murmured, unsure, he turned to Stiles, who shrugged. "Ten if you count the two months of pathetic I miss you texts."

"And you two have been together twelve years? How long have you been having trouble?"

Derek winced. "Two years? Maybe three?" He looked at Stiles, who shook his head.

"Two," the other man said, definitively. They nodded at each other and turned back to Lydia.

"So, ten months of high school puppy love, versus ten years of marital bliss? Also, ten years with two years of trouble is commendable. That you stuck it out this long, that you're _here_ , is commendable. You two will be fine."

Stiles was blushing, hands twisted in his lap, looking away. The room went silent around him. When he finally looked up again, there was a look of incredible fondness on his face that Stiles hadn't seen in years.

Dr. Martin cleared her throat. "Alright," she said, straightening in her seat. "I have your exercise for the week. Get out of here. Go to dinner or a movie or something. Spend some time together."

"I," Derek spluttered, " _what_?! Is our hour up already?"

"Nope," Lydia replied, smiling. "You've still got 40 minutes. Now get out of my office."

* * *

 

They spent the next 40 minutes in the cab of Derek's Range Rover trying to figure out what to _do_.

"We could probably still catch a movie?" Derek offered, but Stiles shook his head. "Nah, dude, I've been up since like six. I kinda just want a shot & a shower."

The older man hummed in agreement and started the car. Stiles leaned his head against the window and let his eyes drift his close as Derek reversed out of the parking spot.

"You wanna pick up some curly fries or something? We can eat 'em at home?" Derek tried again.

Stiles let his eyes stay closed. "Am I a jerk if I say no?"

"You're not a jerk, Stiles. You're tired. It's fine. I just have to make a stop, okay? If you come in with me, I think it can count as me running an errand and us completing our exercise. It's about twenty minutes from here, so you can sleep on the way. Sound good?"

"Yeah. That's good. Thank you."

He wasn't awake to hear Derek's reply.

He awoke to Derek jostling his shoulder.

"Stiles, c'mon, let's go in."

"Whazaa?" He jolted up, arms flailing, knocking against the dashboard and making him wince.

Derek's lips lifted into a soft smile. "We're here. You need to come in with me."

"I don't _wanna_ ," Stiles whined, nursing his sore fist. "You're not gonna be long, right? I'll just stay in the car." He dropped his head back against the window, fist pressed close up against his chest.

The next thing he knew, his door was being opened, and Derek was reaching over to unfasten his seat belt.

"What're you even doing?" Stiles grumbled, and he thought he heard Derek chuckle.

"If you don't come in with me," the older man said easily, "we can't tell Dr. Martin we completed our exercise."

Stiles rolled his eyes and slid out of the car. "We could always lie," he supplied helpfully, walking a few paces behind Derek.

"Or you could just shut up and come in." He called from over his shoulder, but Stiles had stopped in his tracks.

Derek noticed this and turned around fully. "Are you okay?" He asked tentatively. So far, things had been going well on their little outing, but he never knew when things were going to go bad with them lately.

"This is a bar. We're at a bar." The younger man replied, sounding a little dazed.

Derek squinted up at the sign for Boyd's, and then back at Stiles, shrugging. "Yeah. I mean, it's kind of a hole in the wall, but you could get your shot here? And I need to talk to the owner."

"Client?" Stiles asked, falling in step beside his husband as they walked into the crowded establishment.

"Nah," Derek replied, grinning, "he owes me money."

Stiles tipped his head back and laughed. The long, pale column of his throat was illuminated by the hazy gold lights of the bar, and Derek was entranced. Smiling, cognac eyes met his, still twinkling with laughter.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Derek Hale?" Stiles giggled at him, and Derek rolled his eyes fondly.

It was an excuse, he knew, but he leaned into Stiles, rather than shouting to be heard over the noise. "How about you find us somewhere to sit," he suggested, fighting the urge to run his nose over the soft skin under Stiles' ear. He used to like that. "I'll find Boyd and get us some drinks."

Pulling back, he saw that Stiles' eyes had glazed over a little and, _huh_ , maybe he still did like that. The younger man nodded and they parted ways.

Derek made his way to the bar, smiling at Tiffany, the Wednesday night bartender. She finished with her customer and sidled over to him. "Derek, honey! What can I get for you?"

He froze. He actually had no idea what Stiles wanted. They hadn't been out for drinks in ages, and he only had beer at home. The last thing he remembered Stiles drinking was, "Fireball," he spat out, hoping for the best. "Can I get two shots of Fireball and whatever beer you've got on tap? And, could you let Boyd know I'm here?"

She nodded, pouring his shots and beer and sliding them over the bar to him. He handed her his card in return. "Keep it open," he called back to her as he scooped up his drinks and tried to balance them and look for Stiles.

He found him at one of the high tables in the back, eyes on the dance floor. Derek slid the shots in front of him and took the chair on the other side of the table.

"Oh, wow, dude, is this Fireball?" Stiles said, chuckling down at his shot glass. Derek froze, "is that not okay?"

Stiles' eyes went wide with panic. "No, no, it's fine. I just haven't had it in like, forever. Nostalgia, you know?"

He held his glass up and raised his eyebrows at Derek, who fumbled to clink their cups together. Derek watched Stiles' Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, and he shifted a little in his chair.

"Derek! My man!" A booming voice came from behind Stiles, and he swiveled his head to place the sound. His eyes fell on a large, dark skinned man who was smiling and advancing quickly towards their table. Swinging back around to his husband, he saw Derek was grinning right back, sliding out of his chair to meet the other man in a one armed embrace. "Good to see you!" The stranger carried on, "how'd the Montgomery thing pan out?"

Derek was still smiling when he stepped away. "Good to be back, Boyd. Montgomery was a bitch, but it all came together in the end." He shrugged.

Boyd laughed. "Yeah, I bet it did. They don't pay you the big bucks for nothing, right?"

Stiles rolled his shot glass between his hands and forced a look of nonchalance on his face because Derek was _blushing_ , the skin under his stubble and the tips of his ears bright pink, and Stiles was absurdly jealous.

He and Derek had stopped talking about cases about a year ago. And Stiles hadn't been smiled at like that since, well, since three months ago, when they'd gotten back from Europe.

"Yeah, well, speaking of big bucks, you have the cash from the Jets game?" Derek said, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

Boyd nodded and reached into his own back pocket, pulling out a wad of bills. "I was hoping you'd forgotten. How the hell'd you let me bet this much?" He complained, handing the bills over to Derek, who grinned wolfishly again and shrugged.

"It never occurred to me that I was less drunk than the bartender."

Boyd rolled his eyes, "yeah, yeah, whatever." He turned to Stiles. "I'm Boyd," he said holding out a hand, "and this jerk doesn't deserve you."

Stiles chuckled as Derek's eyes went wide. He took Boyd's hand and shook. "Yeah, I think my dad said something along those lines when I married him."

Derek slid himself back up into his chair and took a long sip of his beer.

Boyd's eyes widened. "You're Stiles!" He shouted and Stiles nodded tentatively, not expecting the reaction. "It's nice to meet you! Derek's a regular, he talks about work a bunch, but not too much about his personal life. It's nice to get a glimpse." He finished, and Stiles smiled.

"It's nice to meet you too. This is a nice place," he yelled a little to be heard over the music, letting his eyes flit around the building. Boyd nodded and shouted back, "Thanks!"

He clapped Derek on the back one last time, nodded briefly at Stiles and then disappeared back towards the bar. Stiles took his second shot while watching him go.

When his eyes met Derek's again, the older man looked nervous. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. We can go, if you want?"

Stiles shook his head vehemently. "No! No, it's fine. It's a learning experience. Who knew? Derek Hale has a local. He makes drunk bets with bartenders. He...who are you, again? And _what_ did you do with my husband?" He smiled a little, the liquor kicking in and tempering his jealousy.

Derek opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when Stiles' ears perked up and turned in the direction of the DJ. "Oh my God," he whispered, and Derek looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. A huge, goofy smile spread over Stiles face, as he slid out of his chair and rushed over to the dance floor. It was thinning out as people who weren't familiar with the tune cleared the floor.

The drums of the song were upbeat and poppy, it was obviously a hip hop song. It wasn't Derek's kind of music, but his eyes were glued to Stiles. The younger man was currently rocking his hips slightly while smiling and chatting with the women who seemed to be forming rows on the dance floor. Then, almost out of nowhere, the bass dropped, and took Derek's jaw right along with it.

Stiles body was undulating, hips rolling in small circles to the music. His whole body gyrated as he swayed from side to side, rocking in perfect time with the beat.

Everyone else on the floor was doing the exact same choreography, which only served to make it look more impressive. Derek watched Stiles move until his mouth went dry from being open too long. His chest was tight and his fingers were itching, twitching spasmodically against the urge to reach out and touch.

It occurred to him belatedly that he _could_. That this image of sin on the dance floor was his husband, not some strip club fantasy. That touching was allowed. He couldn't figure out for the life of him why they weren't touching **all** the time.

Not one to dwell, he chose to rectify the situation. He was on the dance floor before his brain even registered his legs were moving. Crowding into Stiles' space, he swore when the younger man's arms wrapped around his neck.

Stiles grinned and pressed their pelvises together, still moving to the music. Derek ducked down and breathed deep into Stiles' neck.

"You look," he breathed, dampening this skin there before pressing his lips to it, gently. The brunette dropped his head back to give his husband more room, smile going dreamy and slow.

Derek brought his face up so that he could look at Stiles. His amber eyes were dark with lust, and Derek searched them for approval as he moved in closer. Stiles' nod was almost imperceptible, but Derek caught it and sighed before letting his eyes flutter closed and pressing his lips against Stiles'.

The kiss started off tentative, closed mouthed and careful. But Stiles was still swinging his hips back and forth, and when they caught against Derek's, he grabbed the younger man's hips and pressed back. Stiles gasped, and Derek's tongue slipped into his mouth.

Stiles' fingers wound their way into Derek's hair, tugging him closer, while his husband's tongue thoroughly traced every inch of his mouth.

It'd been too long, Derek thought hazily, since they'd been this close. He could taste Stiles' moans, and he knew exactly what to touch, when and with how much pressure. It was like a high, they hadn't been this in sync with each other in months, and Derek felt like this was it, this was exactly what they needed to get back on track. Just a little _more_ and it could all be back to normal.

So when Stiles pulled away, gasping, and said, "Wanna get out of here?" He nodded, wrapping a hand around Stiles' wrist and dragging him off the floor.

Boyd was waiting for them near the front door. He quietly pressed Derek's debit card back into his hand, and shot Stiles a smile as they walked out the main doors.

* * *

 

In the car, Stiles was buzzing with anticipation. His dick was half hard and his skin felt too tight.

Clicking off his seatbelt, he leaned over the console and into Derek's neck, nipping at the skin there.

"Put your seatbelt back on, Stiles," Derek gritted, fingers tightening on the steering wheel, "you could get a ticket."

Stiles could hear the leather creak under Derek's grip and he chuckled. "I'll be sure to explain that it's an emergency." He whispered, arching up to suck the lobe of Derek's ear into his mouth.

"How much did you win?" Stiles asked, breathing harshly. Derek shivered. "Three fifty." The moan he got in reply was lusty and wanton and almost foreign to him, it'd been so long. "God, that's so hot," the younger man drawled, "bookie Derek Hale." Derek huffed out a laugh.

"Me? No, you. Pole dancer Stiles Stilinski."

Stiles shook his head and pressed his mouth against Derek's jaw, hand snaking down the older man's body to grip his growing bulge through his slacks. "Nah, baby," he smiled, "I'm way worse on a pole."

"Fuck, Stiles," Derek groaned, hips thrusting up into Stiles' hand without his permission. The younger man hummed in consideration.

"How long till we get home?" Stiles asked, looking around, hand never leaving his husband’s dick.

“Ten minutes,” Derek hissed, trying to fight the urge to roll his hips up into Stiles’ hand.

The younger man shook his head. “Too long,” he said definitely, leaning down to unfasten Derek’s belt.

“Stiles,” Derek growled out a warning, but the younger man just blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “Yes?”

“You’re gonna, shit,” Derek sputtered as Stiles got his hands down the front of his slacks and stroked his hardness once. “You’re gonna make me crash the fucking car.”

“Mmm,” Stiles mumbled, focused on removing the last barrier between him and the hard cock under his hands. “It’s just ten minutes,” he muttered, sliding the fabric away, “Focus.”

He dipped his head down to take the head of Derek’s dick into his mouth, but before he could, Derek hissed and dropped a hand from the steering wheel, tangling it in Stiles’ hair and _tugging_. The younger man whimpered and dropped his forehead against his husband’s thigh.

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice hard, “you need to _wait_.”

Stiles slid away from Derek, pressing himself up against the car door. He was hot with embarrassment, shame, and the sickening roil of rejection was starting up in his stomach. “Fine,” he mumbled, not looking at Derek. “Sorry, I guess.”

“Shit, Stiles, I didn’t,” Derek started, reaching out to touch him, and then pulling back quickly when Stiles flinched away.

“It’s fine,” the brunette murmured. “Its, whatever. It’s fine.”

* * *

Stiles was out of the car almost before it stopped moving. He jogged up the front steps, pulling his keys out of his pocket on the way. The heavy breaths behind him told him Derek was jogging too, trying to catch up. It only made him move faster. They should _talk_ , he knew that. But he didn’t want to. He was embarrassed and horny and so, _so_ tired. He just wanted to take a shower and go to sleep and forget this day ever happened. 

He opened the door with too much force, almost forgetting to take his keys back out in his haste to get away from his husband.

When he turned back for them, though, Derek was already there. The look he gave Stiles was full of such extraordinary patience and love that Stiles stumbled a step back. 

“I don’t,” he blurted out, “I don’t want to fight. I don’t. I just…I just wanna go to bed, Der. Can I please just…?” He tried, but Derek was already shaking his head, taking a step forward and holding out a hand. Those stupid, _stupid_ glass green eyes were holding his steadily, and Stiles took a step towards them without thinking.

Sighing, he moved forward, placing his hand in Derek’s. The older man twined their fingers together, and Stiles let himself be pulled backwards, crowded up against their front door. The pressure against his shoulder made him wince, and Derek froze.

“Are you okay?” He asked, eyes searching Stiles’, who nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Derek was being so careful with him, and Stiles felt like if they could do this, if they could have this one night, then maybe everything could be okay.

So he pressed through the pain, surging up against Derek’s mouth. Derek’s arms came around him, squeezing them closer together. Stiles could feel that he was still hard in his slacks, and it made him press closer, grinding a little against the bulge there.

Derek hissed and pulled away from his mouth to start sucking a line down his throat. “I’m sorry about the car.” He murmured into Stiles’ skin, but the other man shook his head. “’S fine. It’s fine, just…”

The older man chuckled a little, “You keep saying that.” He set his teeth against Stiles’ rabbiting pulse and watched as his husband arched and moaned. “I freaked out,” he admitted before sucking a mark into the space right below Stiles’ ear. “I just knew you were gonna make me come. I wouldn’t have been able to keep the car on the road.” He blew on the mark when he was finished with it, and didn’t try to bite back the grin of pride he felt. It was dark and splotchy against pale skin. People were going to _see_ it. People were going to _know._

“It’s been so _long_ ,” he groaned, fingers tugging at the hem of Stiles shirt.

Stiles dutifully raised his arms and helped get it off. Dropping it to the ground, he pulled Derek in, fingers carding through the short hairs at the back of his neck. “Hmm,” he whispered, “I know. Maybe this’ll give you some incentive to come home sometime."

Derek stopped. “I…Stiles I’m here, as often as I can be here.” He said, earnestly. 

Stiles hummed and pressed his lips to the corner of Derek’s mouth. “Okay. Shh, let’s just…”

“No.” Derek insisted, gripping Stiles’ wrists. “I don’t want you to think that I’m just out—" 

Stiles tugged his wrists away violently. “Stop fucking _doing_ that. And you wonder why it’s been so long since I’ve touched you. Every time I do, you _literally push me away.”_

Derek looked down at his hands like they’d betrayed him, and then back up at Stiles.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“No, you never mean to! You never mean to do **_anything_**! Always so fucking well intentioned. Saint Derek Hale. I know. But you **do _._** You do this shit all the time.”

Stiles forced his way out of the small space between Derek and the wall, turning to whirl on his husband.

“Stiles, I don’t even know what we’re fighting about right now.” 

“You! We’re fighting about you! And your fucking eighty hour a week job and your fucking bartender friends that I know nothing about and the fact that you can’t fucking stand for me to touch you!” Stiles yelled, fighting against the urge to cross his arms over his bare chest.

“How do you think the _bills_ get paid around here, Stiles? I have to work because _you_ wanted this big ass house! And Boyd is my friend! Am I allowed to have a friend? You’re at Erica’s _all_ the time. It’s not like you miss me. You’ve got a fucking weekly poker game you attend. Don’t act like you’re twiddling your fucking thumbs here waiting for me.” Derek spat back, voice flat and hard. 

“The…that’s the _department_ poker game. Half the reason I got _my_ promotion was because of that poker game. Do you remember why _I_ needed a promotion, Derek? So one of us could have a decent schedule! For the…” Stiles stuttered to a stop, furious at the tears that were welling up in his eyes, “For the fucking **kids** that we were supposed to fill this big ass house with, Derek. Which was a stupid dream, I get that now. You wouldn’t even have time for them if we were to have them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stiles. I’d make time if we had kids.”

Stiles went still. His eyes narrowed and his voice went very, _very_ quiet. “So it’s me, then? It’s just me that you can’t make time for?”

“That’s not what I…shit, that’s not what I fucking _meant_ , Stiles!”

“Course it’s not. Course it’s not. Okay. Fine, Derek. Fine. It’s fine. You wanna know why I keep saying that? Because what the fuck else am I supposed to say to you? You’re always right. Everything you do is always right and I’m just….I don’t even know anymore. I don’t even know why I’m here anymore.”

Tears were stinging at his eyes when Stiles finally turned around and jogged up the stairs. This was all his fault and he knew it. He shouldn’t have put so much faith in this. Shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up so high. It never worked. They tried and tried and tried and it never worked. Why did he think this time would be any different?

He stripped off the rest of his clothes between the bedroom door and the bathroom door. Setting the water to scalding, he sat down on the floor of the shower and let himself cry. 

* * *

 

When he stepped out into the cool air of their bedroom, Stiles felt raw and stretched thin. He saw all of his clothes had been put away, and the quilt they kept on the chair in the corner was missing. Throwing on a pair of CPD sweats and a ratty t-shirt, he wandered through the house looking for Derek.

Starting with the second floor, he checked both guest rooms and came up with nothing. Sighing, he meandered downstairs, checking both Derek’s study and the living room.

The longer it took to find Derek, the got more agitated Stiles became. Glancing out of the living room window, he saw that the truck was still parked (terribly) in the driveway, so he probably hadn’t left. Unless he’d gone for a run.

He pushed open the basement door slowly. “Derek?” He called out from the top of the stairs. He didn’t get a response, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realized the TV was on. He jogged down with a huff, only to find Derek sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed, light from the television spilling over him. He was beautiful, and something inside Stiles hurt to look at him.

Slowly, Stiles approached the couch, watching Derek breathe for a few minutes before saying, “You’re not asleep. You’ve never fallen asleep that fast in your life.”

There was a telltale twitch in Derek’s fingers that told Stiles he was right, but otherwise there was no response. Stiles wanted to bend down and kiss his husband’s temple, or run a hand through his hair, his whole body aching with it. He forced himself to turn around and walk back upstairs, though. He’d put himself out there enough for one night, he thought.


	2. Almost is Never Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the turn of the tide. Or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is rushed and unbeta'd, which is an awful combination. There's gonna be at least one more part (it got long on me, sorry!) 
> 
> I do promise that this has a happy ending. Like, super obnoxiously happy.

Lydia was smiling when they showed up for their next session.

“Stiles! Derek! It’s good to see you. You’re both looking well. Let’s sit, shall we?”

Derek snorted. They did _not_ look well. Derek knew, for a fact, that he looked like _hell_. Old man Lahey was having some sort of surgery on his kidneys, and Camden was in Aspen for three weeks, so half the department’s caseload had been split between Derek and Isaac.

Isaac was a good guy, and a smart lawyer. He’d been a few years behind Derek in school, so he was still finding his footing as far as his style, and needed a lot of help. So, instead of it being two lawyers doing four lawyers’ work, it was more like one lawyer and an overqualified assistant doing four lawyers’ work. Derek wasn’t sure if he’d make it through the whole session without falling asleep, and wouldn’t that be _great_.

Stiles had been put in a sling and moved to desk duty a few days ago, something about overworking a sprained shoulder. It made him cranky, being away from the action. He absolutely detested paperwork, and apparently he was drowning in it.

It benefitted them greatly, though, in that they didn’t need to see each other pretty much at all. Stiles was working a pretty strict nine to five while on desk duty, and Derek was working still leaving the house at seven and crawling into bed a little after midnight. There weren’t many openings for conversation, and they were both okay with that because, really, they didn’t know what there was to say.

“Derek,” he was snapped out of his thoughts by Lydia’s snapping fingers two inches from his face. “Yeah? Yes? Sorry.”

She looked deeply disapproving but nodded anyway, “Stiles was just going to tell me about how last week’s exercise went. I thought you might want to help him? 

Derek sighed and let his eyes wander over to Stiles, who was staring straight ahead. “Well, he hasn’t said the word divorce again recently. But I think that’s just because we’re not speaking.” He dropped his hands into his lap and looked back down.

“Divorce. Divorce, divorce, divorce, divorce, divorce.” Stiles chanted from his seat, still not looking at his husband.

“Way to be mature Stiles.” Derek huffed, rolling his eyes against the pain of it. Apparently they were right back where they started. He wondered if Danny Mahealani was serious about giving them a few free sessions if Lydia didn’t work out.

“Excuse me, gentlemen!” Lydia cut in, admonishing both of them. “Would you care to explain exactly what’s going on here?” 

“He took me to go collect a bet from a bartender friend of his. I didn’t even know he made bets. Or had bartender friends.” Stiles started, sounding miserable. 

“He danced. I didn’t know he could dance like that. We made out a little. Fooled around a little in the car. He wanted to…go further than we could while I was driving.” Derek continued, chancing a look at Stiles, who was watching Lydia’s facial expressions change.

“Then he mandhandled me off of him.” 

“Manhandled is a little strong, don’t you think?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, “Mmm, no. I don’t think, actually. What word would you use?”

“You used to…” Derek stopped himself before he could finish, but Stiles was looking at him now, eyes narrowed and hot with temper. 

“I used to _what?_ I used to like it? Is that what you were gonna say? Because I did. I _do_ , actually. I like it a lot. When it means we’re going to _continue_ the sexytimes. It’s a little less awesome when It’s putting an _end_ to sexytimes.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“And then you did it again.”

“I’m fucking _sorry_ , Stiles, what do you want me to say?!" 

“I don’t want you to **say** anything. I want you to stop _doing it!_ ” 

“Can I cut in here, for a second?” Lydia piped up from where she was leaning against her desk, lips pressed into a tight line. Stiles nodded but looked away from her, flushing red.

“So, you went out for drinks. There was dancing. You learned new things about one another. You had moments of intimacy, what happened once you got home?”

Derek forged on. “Stiles was…I hurt his feelings when I stopped him in the car.” He stuttered.

“And I’m assuming what you stopped was road head?”

Derek choked, but nodded. Lydia hummed and motioned for him to continue.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I was just caught off guard and I wasn’t going to last and…” Derek blushed but forced himself to continue. “I didn’t want to disappoint him. It’s been so long and I just wanted it to be…good.” He glanced up, and there was more understanding in Lydia’s eyes than pity. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Stiles, but he forced himself to keep talking.

“And then he…he made some comment about how I’m never at home," 

‘It was a fucking joke,” Stiles spat. 

“Was it, Stiles?” Lydia asked, “ _really?_ ”

“Yes. _Really_. If we can’t joke about our dysfunction than…I mean…he works a lot. I get that. I knew what I was signing up for. And…I mean…he was right. I keep myself busy, you know? I’m not just sitting at home waiting. I just…we had a plan. And we both did everything we were supposed to, but we’re not getting the payoff we wanted." 

“Can you be a little less cryptic, Stiles?” 

The other man slumped into the chair, all the fight drained out of him. It was painfully reminiscent of that night two weeks ago, and Derek just wanted to punch something. He wanted to _fix_ it. He would tear down the world to keep Stiles from looking this resigned ever again.

“Kids.” Derek supplied when it became evident that Stiles wasn’t going to speak. “The plan was for me to get a promotion to partner, so we could get a bigger place, for kids. And Stiles was supposed to get a promotion so that he’d have a more stable schedule, for kids.”

Lydia nodded and walked around her desk to sit down.  “Stiles,” she said, and then she waited until he brought his head up to face her. “Was it really a joke?”

He shook his head, dejected. “I wanted it to be. I just thought that maybe…if we could connect that way again, that he’d remember…you know, the life we wanted before all this shit started.”

She nodded, and sighed. “Okay, you two. I’m calling that exercise a success. You went out, you learned new things about each other. You had moments of incredible intimacy. It proves that there’s still things you can learn, and still ways you can grow together.” 

“Well,” Stiles snorted, “That’s just being obnoxiously optimistic, don’t you think?” 

“Someone in this room needs to be, Stiles. Was it really necessary to say divorce _five_ times?”

Stiles had the grace to look a little ashamed, but only a little.

When neither of them spoke. Lydia forged on. “This is a _good_ start. But I’m going to suggest that you two don’t push the physical aspect of your relationship. At this point, I don’t think sex would be a good idea anyway." 

Stiles gasped. “Sex is _always_ a good idea!” 

“You think so? Because I think that, feeling the way the both of you do, if you were to have sex, say, today? You’d just feel cheap after. Like you’d had sex with a stranger.”

Stiles immediately thought back to the last time they’d gone on a double date with Allison and Isaac. They’d laughed, and flirted and touched, and Derek and Stiles had been separate and silent in comparison. He never wanted to feel like that again.

“Fine. No sex. Now what?”

Lydia gave him a look that he could only be described as amused, but she soon sobered.

“What I noticed both about last week is your consideration. Especially you, Derek. You knew Stiles was tired, but you also knew you had an exercise to complete. You took a leap and showed Stiles a side of you that he wasn’t familiar with yet. And Stiles, you were jealous of Boyd and Derek’s closeness, but you didn’t cause a scene. And you repaid him by showing him a part of yourself that he wasn’t familiar with. _That’s_ what I want you to focus on. This week I want you both to try to do something considerate for the other, just keep the other in mind. That’s all.”

Derek and Stiles nodded in unison, and Lydia snorted at them before she told them to get out.

* * *

 

 “You need to go home, Stilinski,” Erica called as she gathered her things.

Stiles grunted at her, flipping through the case file in front of him again. “Gotta figure this out. I’m close, I can feel it. I just gotta…”

“All you _gotta_ do,” Erica snapped, leaning a hip against his desk, “Is get the fuck out of here. Aren’t you and the hot divorce lawyer trying to work it out? I don’t see how that’s gonna happen if you’re here, worried about criminals all the time?”

When Stiles’ eyes met hers, they were hard. “A,” he said, tone cold, “We don’t talk about that. **Ever.** ” She scoffed and rolled her eyes, but nodded, “B, there’s a criminal on the loose who thinks it’s cool to kidnap and cut up women. There are some things more important than…” He shrugged.

“Your marriage, Stilinski? You’re prioritizing the bad guys over your husband?” Huffing, she ran a hand through her blonde curls and straightened. The look she gave him radiated disapproval, and Stiles ducked his head to avoid it.

“He’s probably not even home. He’s never home.” He muttered darkly.

“Stiles, it’s eleven thirty and your cell’s gone off three times in the last hour. He’s home. He’s waiting for you. There’s an entire police department looking for this guy. There’s nobody else looking after Derek." 

A sharp pang cut through Stiles at the thought that someone could be. What if someone else was bringing him lunch in the afternoons, or flirty texts beckoning him to leave work just a little early? Jealousy and fear rose red on his cheeks.

“What’re you still doing here anyway?” He pouted, closing the files on his desk and grabbing his coat.

She chuckled. “If I wasn’t here, who’d be around to help you with your little revelation just now?" 

Coming around the desk, Stiles reached out and grabbed his partner’s arm. “You’re the best, Erica. Honestly. When are you gonna settle down anyway?”

At this, she tipped her head back and laughed outright. “As soon as I can find somebody who can handle alla this, Stilinski. I’m a whole lotta woman, y’know.”

Stiles laughed right along with her. “Yeah,” he sighed happily, “I know."

* * *

 

He tried to be quiet as he slid his key into the lock, the door squeaking a little as it swung open. They needed to get some WD40 for it. He kept saying he would next weekend, had been saying it for at least six months worth of weekends.

Stiles was shocked to see the lights in the foyer on as he stepped in, toeing off his shoes and hanging up his jacket and scarf. “Der?” He called out, soft enough that he wouldn’t wake the man if he wasn’t already up.

The older man came out of his study almost immediately, and Stiles’ mouth went dry. He was wearing a white button up, open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves. His hair was tousled, most likely from frustrated hands running through it, and Stiles wished, for a moment, that it was tousled for entirely different reasons. His bloodshot eyes were soft as they smiled, “You’re home.”

He looked like sex on a stick.

“You look exhausted,” Stiles ended up blurting, inwardly cursing himself for it. Derek faltered a little before taking a step closer.

“Yeah, I uhm…old man Lahey’s out for kidney surgery, so I got his caseload. Figured I’d do some work from here. Try to be here a little more?” The end of his sentence tilted up into a question, and he ran a nervous hand over the back of his neck.

Nodding, Stiles stepped forward as well, moving into the kitchen to pull his own beer from the fridge. “I’m sorry I wasn’t home sooner,” he said with his back to Derek. “I caught got up, Erica had to literally drag me out.”

Turning, he leaned with his back against the counter, and watched as Derek took a few tentative steps closer, approaching the island between them with caution. “I get that it’s easier to pour yourself into work. Things have been pretty tense here.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “No! No, it’s not that. It’s just…” he stopped, not sure how to continue. “There’s a case, its…we think it might be serial. It’s getting to me a little bit.”

Derek stilled, eyes narrowing for a minute before he nodded. “We can talk about it if you want?” Stiles shook his head immediately. “I don’t want, you don’t like talking about cases, and this one’s not…it’s not pretty, Der. I just kinda want to chill out a little?”

Nodding again, Derek grabbed his beer from the island and took a pull. “I, uh, I recorded the Mets game. ‘S on the DVR if you want to…”

“You…you did _what_?” Stiles asked, voice awed. Derek shuffled a little, taking another drink. “I…I mean I was here, and I saw it was coming on, and I knew you wouldn’t be home in time so I…it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a _huge_ deal. It’s a playoff game. It’s…” Stiles swallowed, eyes dancing between Derek and the big screen tv in their living room. “ _Thank you_ ,” he breathed.

Derek’s heart stuttered. “No problem. I, uhm, I’ll let you get to it?” He said, taking a step back, clutching his beer like a lifeline.

“Hey,” Stiles called out, and Derek turned. “D’you wanna, maybe watch it with me?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I’ve still got a lot of work. I…enjoy it, okay?”

Stiles nodded and headed over to the couch with a silly little grin on his face.

Derek walked back into his study feeling equal parts elated and ashamed. On one hand, Stiles was smiling, and _he’d_ done that. On the other, it was such a small thing. And Stiles had been so surprised, like it wasn’t fathomable that Derek had done something nice for him. Which got him thinking, before this, when _was_ the last time he’d done something nice.

He ran frustrated hands through his hair because he couldn’t remember. When had he turned into that guy? Scrubbing at his face, he vowed that it stopped now. Stiles Stilinski was going to have the most dedicated, thoughtful husband on the block, damn it.

Resolved, he went back to his paperwork.

* * *

 

They’d done it, Stiles thought, relief crashing through him. They’d caught the bastard. Stiles himself had been the one to connect the final dots, figure out that all the kidnapped women were members of the gym. He was slightly resentful—the stupid sling had kept him from actually riding out to pick the guy up. Erica said he’d run, that she’d had to tackle him to get the cuffs on. His shoulder throbbed just thinking about it, but _damn_ had he wanted to be a part of that.

However, as the guy who’d fit all the pieces together, he’d gotten first dibs on the interrogation. He’d been quiet and ruthless, and the idiot had sung like a bird before even considering asking for a lawyer.

The day was a win. Half the department was at a bar getting wasted, and he should be celebrating with them, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Honestly, the only thing that sounded good to him at the moment was a gigantic bowl of cereal and the longest nap on record.

It was still light out when he let himself into the house, couldn’t have been much after four in the afternoon. Finstock had given him the day off tomorrow, as he’d been putting in too many hours the last week or so anyway. Stiles couldn’t pretend he wasn’t grateful.

Grabbing a mixing bowl, he poured almost an entire box of Coco Puffs into it, before reaching into the fridge and swearing.

“No milk. Of course there’s no milk. Of fucking course,” he muttered under his breath as he grabbed his keys and walked back out.

Driving one handed was a bitch, but luckily, the grocery store was just a bit down the road. Walking in, he immediately thought of a million other things they needed. Bread, eggs, nutella, freezer waffles, bananas…

Despite his fervent desire to not do anything, Stiles was feeling good. He was humming in the produce section when a batch of gorgeous mangoes caught his eye, and an idea started to form in his head. He’d never repaid Derek for recording the Mets game for him, even though it still made him warm all over to think about.

Derek’s absolute favorite thing to eat, that Stiles could cook, was steak and mango salad. It was a really simple dish—just required a shit ton of chopping, really—so Stiles picked up everything he’d need to make it, threw it all in the cart, and headed home with a smile plastered to his face.

* * *

 

Chopping vegetables one handed was a _bitch_. So much so that Stiles took the sling off before he’d even finished the first onion. The faster he could get this done, he thought, the faster he could put it back on, take a pain pill, and go to sleep.

The actual preparation went quickly once he had both of his hands, and if he shoulder was a little achy when he was finished, it was worth it. He slid the dish into a Tupperware container with a Post It that simply said, _Enjoy it, okay?_ , and then placed it in the fridge.

He cleaned up in the kitchen a little, and then before he went to leave, wrote one more post it that he stuck to fridge.

_Open me_

_PS- We caught the bad guy. I’m gonna sleep for three days._

He jogged up the stairs, swallowing to pain pills dry and collapsing into bed without so much as removing his shoes.

Derek’s gonna be pissed, was his last waking thought.

* * *

When he woke up again, the sun was high in the sky, and there was something scratching at his hairline. Groaning, he snatched it off, blinking at the offending piece of yellow paper in the sunlight.

_I loved it._

_Thank you._

_PS – Apparently you’re a hero, so I forgive you for the shoes. This once._

For a sleepy moment, Stiles’ heart jumped into his chest, because he thought the note had said I love you. He reread it three times until the words made sense again. He loved the salad. Of course.

They hadn’t exchanged I love you’s in months. Stiles didn’t know when it started, just that it hurt like hell now. Originally they’d just been so busy. They’d barely seen each other, quick hi’s and byes in the foyer when one of them was on the way out and the other one on the way in. Stiles had thought, _he knows_. Thought that it wasn’t a big deal because they’d said it all the time before.

But then they’d had their first fight, and they hadn’t really had time to sit down and _resolve_ it, so it just settled under the skin, nagging at both of them. Stiles made himself more busy instead of having to face it, ignored the problem until it went away, but it never went away.

Then there was another fight, and another. Angry words and harsh stares and sound of slammed doors niggled their way into Stiles’ chest, into the place where the love used to be, and settled there. Now, when he thought of _I love you,_ it scared him. It hurt.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself, rising from the bed. He was being ridiculous.

He was mildly irritable when he dragged himself downstairs. Irritation morphed quickly into shock when he saw Derek at the stove top, scrambling eggs.

“You’re here,” he blurted out, and Derek raised an eyebrow. “You got your note,” he said, nodding towards the crumpled up piece of yellow paper still in Stiles’ hand. “Yeah,” the younger man said, taking a seat at one of the high chairs framing the kitchen island. “Yeah. Classy.” He chuckled a little. Derek shrugged and smiled, “I try.”

Quietly, Derek slid him a plate of scrambled eggs, sausage and toast. “Did you sleep well?”

“Shoulder’s a little tender, but otherwise, yeah,” Stiles nodded, taking an eager bite of breakfast. “ _Fuck,”_ he moaned around a forkful of eggs, “this is really good, you know that?” He damn near whimpered, motioning at his plate with his fork. Derek turned to face the sink and pretended to wash a dish so Stile wouldn’t see the blush that rose up on his face.

“Lydia told me to tell you she’s very proud,” he called over his shoulder. Stiles fork clattered onto his plate.

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “Shit! I, yesterday was Wednesday?! _Fuck,_ I’m sorry.” Derek turned quickly, eyebrow arched. “Stiles, it’s fine.” He said, in an attempt to be soothing. The younger man scrubbed a hand over his face. “Its _not_ , though. It’s fucking couples’ counseling. I should’ve stayed up. Shit. I wasn’t even thinking. Why’d you even go? I wasn’t trying to send you in there by yourself, babe, I promise.”

Derek froze at the term of endearment. “I…it’s fine. You’ve been working so much. And you did it, you got him. You deserved to sleep. It’s not…I went because I wanted to. I like Lydia. I like talking to her. It’s fine. She says so too.”

Stiles still look like he’d accidentally run over a dog, shoulders hunched as he pouted down at his almost empty plate of food. “You don’t think I prioritized myself over my marriage?” He asked, voice small. Derek scoffed. Stiles’ eyes came up quickly. “No, Stiles. I think you had a hard day at work, and you went to sleep. That you even had the foresight to make my favorite dinner first is enough for me. No complaints here.”

Nodding, Stiles dove back into his food, and Derek went back to washing the dishes from cooking. It was a companionable silence.

When Stiles was done, he rose, walking around the island to deposit his dish into the sink. Picking up a towel, he quietly started drying the newly washed dishes.

“So, what’d you and Lydia talk about without me?” Stiles said, feigning nonchalance. Derek went quiet and still. He cleared his throat. “We, uh, we talked about Kate,” he said eventually.

Stiles’ poker face was better than Derek’s, so he kept drying dishes and hummed in acknowledgement. “What about her?” He watched the older man shrug, but his hands were also shaking a little on the soapy dishes. Stiles reached out to place a gentle hand on his forearm. “Der…” he said slowly, “You’re starting to worry me.”

“No,” Derek said, putting down the dish. Stiles handed him the towel to dry off with, and he took it graciously. “It’s just…it was weird. Lydia asked if I didn’t want to end things between us because of the way things ended with Kate.”

Stiles looked out of the window, keeping his poker face firm.

“That makes more sense than I want it to,” he said, carefully. “You dated her for what, eight months in college?” Derek nodded. “And then, when you two broke up, she tried to burn down the house.” He nodded again. Stiles swallowed.

“So, maybe you’re worried that if you end things with me, I’ll go a little nuts? I mean, I’d have more right to it than Kate. I’ve spent half of my life with you. I’d be completely fucking lost without you.” Stiles murmured, talking more to himself than to Derek.

“You would?” The older man asked, and Stiles’ eyes met his. “Of _course_ I would, Der. I’d be…God I’d be a wreck. I wouldn’t even know how to…” he stuttered to a stop. It hurt him so much, that Derek had ever doubted that he was as necessary to Stiles as breathing.

“You know, though,” he continued, “that I’d never hurt anybody. That I’d never do that to you. You know that, right?” He asked, and Derek nodded.

“She also asked if I thought if I broke up with you, the whole thing with Kate would’ve been for nothing.” Derek said, voice almost at a whisper.

“Well, that just doesn’t make any sense. You broke up with her _months_ before you and I had anything going. I assumed it was because she was crazy, which she then proved. I mean…” Stiles stopped when he saw the look on Derek’s face.

“Der? Why’d you break up with Kate?”

The older man sighed and turned, leaning his hip into the counter and crossing his arms as he looked at Stiles. “You remember that party we all went to? Mom said Allison needed a chaperone, and you were Scott’s ride. And they ended up making out somewhere, and it was just you and me?”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah. I was honored just to be standing next to you. You were far and away the hottest guy there, and I was the only person you talked to all night. It was fantastic.”

Derek nodded. “I didn’t want to talk to anybody but you. You were amazing. You were smart and funny and you wouldn’t stop talking and you knew _everybody_ and had some sort of little story to tell about them. And there was beer all over the place but you wouldn’t drink any because you were being a good designated driver.”

Stiles turned too, now, peering at Derek with suspicious eyes. “You remember a lot more about that party than I do,” he breathed, and Derek nodded.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that. Alli thought it was hilarious. Even when I went back to school, I still didn’t want to talk to anybody else. I broke up with Kate about two weeks after that party.”

Stiles’ mouth was open, but no words were coming out. He shook his head to clear it. “Why have we never had this conversation before? And then you, what, pined over me till summer?” Derek flushed. “Oh my God, you _did_! You _pined!_ Derek fucking Hale pined. Over me. This is ridiculous.” He giggled a little, but sobered quickly.

“But if it hadn’t been for me,” he said, quieter now, “you wouldn’t have broken up with Kate. She wouldn’t have tried to burn down your house. You wouldn’t have put your family through all of that crap. And if we don’t work…then all that was for nothing?”

Derek nodded, “Lydia thought that might be a possibility.”

“Is it?” Stiles asked, eyes big with worry. “Is that why you don’t want us to split up? Do you have a guilt thing happening? Because, Der, Kate was crazy. You would’ve found out sooner or later. If that’s all that’s keeping you I don’t…” he looked down at his feet, “I don’t want you to feel stuck with me, just because—“

“Shut up,” Derek snapped out, and Stiles’ eyes flew up to meet his. “Just, just don’t think like that, okay? Don’t talk like that. I can’t…I wouldn’t know what to do without you either, alright? I…I still don’t want to talk to anybody else, okay? Just…just don’t talk like that.”

Restless, he turned back to the dishes, washing them too fast. Stiles dried quietly beside him, trying to ignore the warm feeling blooming in his belly at Derek’s confession.

“Did she give us an exercise?” He asked after a long while. He dried the last dish, gingerly setting the plate at the top of the stack in the cabinet.

Derek hummed. “Yeah, we’re supposed to do something mundane and couply.”

Stiles snorted. “Were those her exact words? ‘Mundane and couply’?”

“Yes, actually, they were,” Derek responded, smirking at Stiles, “I was thinking we could go pick out the furniture for the room downstairs,” he continued. The younger man sighed.

“I don’t know where we’re supposed to find time to do that…” he said, running a hand through his hair. His husband shrugged, “I’m free today.”

Stiles glanced at him, eyes widening. “Yeah, actually, what the hell _are_ you doing here? It’s like noon.”

Derek shrugged again. “I took a personal day. Go get in the shower, I’m gonna finish up in here.”

* * *

Stiles was still laughing about it when they got to the furniture store. “You took a personal day?” Derek rolled his eyes and sighed, but the sigh was laced with exasperated affection.

“Yes, Stiles, I took a personal day.”

“The old man’s recovering from surgery, Camden’s in Aspen, and you took a personal day. Who’s running the office?”

Derek shrugged. “Isaac’s there, I think. I told him he could just close it up for the day if he wanted.”

This sent Stiles into a fresh wave of hysterics. “Isaac! Isaac’s running the office alone! Oh, God, this is terrible. You might not even have an office to go back to.” He said, laughing again.

“I doubt he’s going to burn it down,” Derek grumbled under his breath, and Stiles stopped chuckling long enough to reach out and touch his hand.

“Hey,” he said, breathily, “I’m glad you took the day off.” He pulled his hand back quickly, still a little afraid that Derek would forcibly remove him if he touched for too long. Derek’s fingers twitched a little, like they wanted to reach out, but his hand didn’t move. Instead, he smiled at Stiles and said, “I’m glad I did, too.”

They just stood for a while, grinning at each other like idiots, until a perky, blonde sale associate walked over to greet them.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she chirped, giving Derek a long look. “My name’s Kasey. What can I do for you today?”

Derek, of course, shot her his patented mega watt smile in return. Stiles rolled his eyes; he could almost see the poor girl melting through her underwear.

“Yeah,” Derek began, “Hey. We’re actually looking for convertible couches? Not necessarily a futon but maybe something with a hideaway bed?” She beamed at him, nodding.

“Of course. We’ve got a lovely selection of hideaways right over here, if you’d just follow me.” She sent the shortest, tightest smile in Stiles’ general direction before leading them off towards the couches. Stiles noticed the extra switch she gave her hips. Derek didn’t.

“This one’s probably the best,” Kasey said, pulling a perfect Vanna White as she directed them towards one of the sofas. “It’s comfortable, it converts with just a pull of this lever…here,” she said, gesturing towards a black lever on the couch’s left side. “You can’t even tell it’s a hideaway to look at it. It’s perfect for maybe…helping out a friend who’s trying to get back on his feet?” She offered, looking at Stiles really for the first time since they came in. He resisted the urge to flash his wedding band in her face.

Derek still hadn’t noticed.

“What size mattress does it hold?” He asked, hand stroking the hair at his chin. Stiles smiled softly at him. He should look like an idiot doing that, a Bond villain or something, but he never did. It was undeniably hot, every time.

“A full,” Kasey responded with a smile, and Derek shook his head. “No. No, we’d need at least a queen, though a king would be preferable. It needs to be able to comfortably fit at least one man over six feet.”

Kasey balked a little at the, “at least one,” portion of the sentence, and Stiles bit back a vindictive grin. Now she was starting to get it.

“What exactly do you need the couch for?” She asked, voice a little less confident than it had been. Derek hummed. “We need starter furniture for a nursery, something that can be reupholstered if we decided to change the color scheme in the room. We figure we’ll spend a lot of time sleeping in there in the beginning, so we want it to be as comfortable as possible.”

Stiles insides quivered a little. He wasn’t sure how Derek was going to answer that question. It’d been a long time since they’d talked about kids. He wasn’t even sure they could pull it off anymore, with everything that’d happened between them.

Apparently, Derek thought they could.

“Oh!” Kasey cried, eyes going a little desperate, “You and your wife must be so excited!”

Derek’s head came up, eyes filled with confusion. “What?” He asked, sounding genuinely perplexed, at the same time that Stiles snapped.

‘Really?” He exclaimed. “ _Really?!”_

“Do I get to know what’s going on here?” Derek asked, still adorably ignorant.

“Kasey thinks you’re _entirely_ too attractive to be gay.” Stiles supplied helpfully, “Much less gay and with me.” A light came on in Derek’s eyes.

“Ah,” he said, “Well, I am. To both things. And we still need a hideaway with a bigger mattress. Is that something you can do?”

She nodded, head down, and led them through the store quietly.

Without speaking, Derek reached out and wrapped an arm around Stiles’ waist, pulling him in until the younger man was snuggled up against Derek’s side.

When Kasey turned around next, to show them the couch they would end up buying, she flushed violently at the picture they painted.

* * *

Two nights later, they were sitting on the couch, fiddling with their phones, the news ambient noise in the background.

Inevitably, Stiles ran out of lives in Candy Crush, and he glanced up. Derek was still deeply involved in whatever he was doing, so Stiles reached for the remote.

“Hey, d’you mind if I change the station? Erica’s got this stupid show she wants me to watch.”

Derek glanced up, looking at Stiles like he was noticing him for the first time. “Uh, sure. I’m not really paying it any attention.”

“What’re you doing, anyway?” Stiles asked, pulling up the aforementioned show on the DVR.

“Emailing Camden. Apparently he picked up a client on vacation. He might need me to fly out to LA.”

“LA,” Stiles said, whistling, “sounds major.”

“It may very well be,” Derek nodded.

Humming in acknowledgement, Stiles queued up the show, letting himself get lost in an imaginary world (of, ha! teenage fucking werewolves, of all things) for a little while.

A while later, Derek grumbled, “That was a completely unnecessary back flip.”

Stiles hushed him. “The shirtless stubbly guy with the amazing abs can do all the flipping he wants.” He said, zoning back into the show.

“So shirtless and stubbly works for you?” Derek asked, eyebrow raised.

“Well, yeah. I would’ve thought it was obvious, considering,” he said, gesturing to Derek’s comfortable slouch on the couch, phone still in his hand. His hair had gone salt and pepper in the last few years, and it shouldn’t work for him like it did, Derek had long since proven that the rules didn’t apply to him.

“I haven’t been shirtless in a while,” Derek commented easily. Stiles let his eyes travel down from Derek’s face to where his chest was stretching out the fabric of his old Northwestern t-shirt.

“I’m pretty sure if you were to be, you’d be better than that guy,” he said, cocking his head in the direction of the television screen, but holding Derek’s gaze. “You should, actually,” he continued, “for a proper scientific comparison.”

Derek snorted, but there was mischief in his eyes. “You want me to take my shirt off, Stiles?” He said, voice going low as he set his phone down on the table.

Stiles shook his head, “It’s not about what I want, Der. Its for _science_.”

Smirking, Derek tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. Stiles hummed his appreciation, and Derek’s smile widened.

“You should let me feel them,” the younger man said, grinning. Derek arched an eyebrow. “That for science, too?”

Stiles nodded. “Mhm. I’ve been thinking about feeling his since he first came on screen, so…”

“I think since I took my shirt off, you should too.” Derek shot back. “I don’t see how that furthers the experiment at all,” Stiles said, already moving to discard his own shirt. Derek chuckled.

“Maybe I’m doing some experimentation of my own. The lanky brunette reminds me of you. Remember when you had your hair cut that short?”

Stiles moaned and hid his face in his hands. “That was high school! They’re called the lost years for a reason, Derek!” He cried out as he climbed into Derek’s lap, straddling him and settling.

“I’ve never heard anyone call them the lost years but you.” Derek murmured, his eyes scanning Stiles’ face. He lifted a tentative hand and ran it through Stiles’ hair. The younger man shuddered.

It felt natural for Stiles to lean down and press his lips against Derek’s. Strong arms wrapped around his middle and pulled him closer. Stiles wound his arms around Derek’s neck and shifted a little in the older man’s lap.

Derek groaned as the firm line of Stiles’ dick pressed itself into his hip. Stiles took the opportunity to thrust his tongue into the other man’s mouth, sucking at his tongue. Sliding a hand up into Derek’s hair, he held his head still and ran his teeth over Derek’s bottom lip, tugging.

The sound Derek made could only be described as a whine, and Stiles instinctively rolled his hips down against Derek’s hip, cursing when the older man ground up in response.

Derek’s cell phone chirped on the table.

“Fucking leave it,” Stiles muttered, lips moving along the hinge of Derek’s jaw, letting his tongue trace down the older man’s throat.

“It could be Camden,” Derek gasped, hips still rolling up into Stiles. He was leaking in his underwear, hot and hard and desperate for Stiles in a way he hadn’t been in a while.

“Fuck Camden,” Stiles breathed into Derek’s skin, sucking a mark into his throat.

Derek growled, hands fisting at Stiles’ hips as he _pushed_ up against Stiles, grinding his dick into the soft fabric of Stiles’ sweats.

“Ah, _fuck_ , Der…” Stiles shouted, hands tightening in Derek’s hair. The other man smirked and lifted Stiles, rolling them so that Stiles was laying down on the couch, Derek cradled between his thighs.

The phone went off again, but neither of them paid it any mind.

Derek was lost in the small sounds Stiles was making, the way he arched his body to get closer to Derek. Stiles pulled him down into a sloppy, open mouthed kiss that was full of intent and promise.

“Too many clothes,” Stiles breathed, hands scrabbling at the waistband of Derek’s basketball shorts and pulling them down, gripping his ass and pulling him in tighter.

Somewhere in the back of Derek’s mind, a tendril of panic started to uncurl. Hadn’t Lydia told them sex probably wasn’t a good idea? What if they did this and afterwards, they felt cheap? They’d been doing so well, but how was this any different than last time? What if they were pushing it? He stiffened.

Stiles’ mouth, that had been busy on his, slowed and pulled away as Derek tensed. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

Slowly, Derek pulled his hands off of Stiles’ hips, bracing one near Stiles’ side and the other on the arm of the couch. “I think we should stop,” he mumbled.

Stiles blinked twice, eyes focusing from their glaze of lust. “Stop? Why would we stop?”

Sitting up, Derek straightened his shorts. “Lydia told us not to push the physical aspect of our relationship. So I think we should…wait.” He tried to explain. Stiles sat up as well, staying on the opposite end of the couch.

“Wait for what?” He asked, keeping his voice level.

“I’m not sure. I’m not…I’m just worried, I guess.”

Stiles sighed. “Okay. Okay. I’m…we’re not gonna fight. I don’t wanna fight. I’m just…I guess if you feel like we’re pushing it, we can stop. That’s fine I guess.”

“No!” Derek rushed, “ _I_ don’t feel like we’re pushing. I just thought maybe, you thought?” he trailed off. Stiles turned toward him, eyes narrowing and shook his head.

“No. I, uhm, it felt pretty natural to me? I didn’t feel like we were pushing.” He responded. They smiled softly at each other.

“So, d’you wanna…” Stiles said suggestively, tilting his head towards the stairs.

“I…it still feels…I’m not sure.” He said quietly, looking away from Stiles, who stiffened.

“So you do feel like we’re pushing it. Like we’re not ready.”

“I just think we should wait a little longer. I don’t know. Is it going to hurt anything, really, to wait? Maybe run it by Lydia first, see what she thinks?” Derek pleaded.

“You want to ask our counselor if it’s okay for us to have sex? I…whatever, Derek.” Stiles laughed without mirth, rising from the couch.

“Stiles. I think this is just a misunderstanding. You shouldn’t be upset.”

Stiles turned in the hallway. “No. I understand. You don’t think we’re ready to have sex. You want to wait until we’ve had a chance to talk it over with Lydia. You’ve made yourself very clear.”

Derek just sat, numb, while Stiles disappeared from view because, well, that was what he meant.

Sighing, he reached for his phone to see what he’d missed. He cursed as Camden’s ever more excited emails painted a picture that was great for the company, but less than great for his marriage.

He ran upstairs to catch Stiles, but when he got into their room, the other man was already in the shower. Derek hovered with his hand on the doorknob for a moment, wondering if he should just go in and talk to him, when he heard the first breathy moan.

Derek jumped back like he’d been burned. He paced through the room trying to fight off his body’s reaction to his husband. Frustrated, he dug through his drawers for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Once he was changed, he rifled through their closet for his garment bag and started packing.

Stiles came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, towel slung low on his waist, and was greeted with the sight of Derek laying suits into the bag.

“What the hell is this?” He asked sharply. Derek looked at him briefly, but then looked away.

“I told you Camden might need me to go to LA.” He muttered.

Stiles’ eyes widened. “ _Tonight_?”

Derek shrugged. “He needs me there by morning. I’ll sleep on the plane. It’ll be fine.”

“I…,” Stiles stuttered, unsure as to how he felt. “How long are you going to be gone?”

Derek zipped up the garment bag and moved into the bathroom to pack his toiletries. “I’m not entirely sure. Hopefully just the day. I’d like to be back Monday to open the office. But it’s possible I won’t get in until Tuesday.”

Stiles nodded dumbly, still standing in only his towel, looking lost. Derek saw him as he stepped out of the bathroom, and moved into his space. 

“I’m sorry, okay? This is bad timing. Like, really bad. But Camden met a fucking Kardashian in Aspen and one of the sisters needs a divorce attorney ASAP and there’s no way I can,”

“No, no,” Stiles cut him off, “It’s fine. It’s…that’s a big deal. Go. I’m….fine. It’s fine.”

Derek’s whole face fell at the utterance of that word _fine_. The more often Stiles said it the less _fine_ everything was. He huffed out a breath.

“I’ll text you right before take off, and as soon as I land. I’lll be back as soon as I can, okay? I’ll definitely be here by Wednesday, so we can talk to Lydia together. I lo--… be safe while I’m gone. Alright?”

Stiles nodded again, and Derek pressed a small kiss to the other man’s forehead. Reluctantly, he grabbed his luggage and jogged downstairs.

Stiles watched the Range Rover pull out of the driveway from their bedroom window, followed the tail lights until he couldn’t see them anymore.

They’d been doing so well, he thought mournfully to himself.

So well.


	3. Supposed (7:07)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the absence makes it easier for the boys to talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note!: I've got a playlist that goes with this story so far. I was wondering if you guys would be interested in me posting it at the end? 
> 
> Also!: Do **not** ask me why 1.5k of this chapter is Derek Hale having a conversation with the Kardashians. It got away from me, alright? I'm sorry. 
> 
> Next chapter should be the last unless I do an epilogue which I might still.

The sun was just lightening the walls of the bedroom when Stiles’ phone rang. Groaning, he rolled over and grabbed for it, pressing it to his face. “Stilinski,” he grunted as soon as he was certain he’d hit answer.

“Sorry,” Derek’s voice came over the line, “did I wake you?”

Stiles turned over, opening his eyes to check the time on the alarm clock. It read 7:07. “You did,” he grumbled back into the phone, “but it’s fine. I should’ve been up anyway.” He went to detangle himself from the cocoon he’d made in his husband’s absence, when Derek blurted out, “stay in bed a second?”

The younger man froze, eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to have phone sex with me? Because I offered you actual sex and you ran halfway across the fucking country, so…”

Derek laughed softly. “No. I didn’t…you remember when we used to set the alarm for an hour before we had to be anywhere? We’d just lay in bed, be together for a little while. I was thinking about that, and I just…I don’t know. I just called.”

Stiles sat down heavily on the bed. “I don’t…I don’t have an hour.”

“Oh. No, you’re right. It was stupid. I should’ve talked to you about it first, sorry. I’ll just—“

“Derek. Shut up. That’s not what I…is twenty minutes okay?”

Derek’s sigh came out as a whoosh of static through the phone line. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. Uhm…where are you?”

“…at home? In bed?”

“No,” Derek said, sounding like he wanted to chuckle, “What side of the bed? I know you sleep in a blanket bubble when you’re by yourself. And you roll. Where’d you end up?”

“Oh!” Stiles said, smiling, “I’m, uh, I’m on your side. I was getting up, but then you told me not to. So I just…sat down.”

“That makes sense. Do you want to lay down again?”

“On your side?”

“Yeah. If you want…” Stiles laid back, stretching himself out over Derek’s side of the bed. He breathed deeply, soaking up the scent of him that’d been worked into the pillows over time. “Smells like you,” he murmured, immediately feeling drowsy again.

“Yeah?” Derek asked, voice going quiet to match Stiles’.

“Mhm,” Stiles said, snuggling further into the pillows. “It’s, uh, it’s nice.”

They sat in silence for a while, but it was companionable, Stiles almost drifting back into a light doze before a thought came to him. “Sucks that you don’t have anything that smells like me.”

The quality of Derek’s silence changed in a way Stiles couldn't quite place. Then Derek muttered, “I might have stolen one of your shirts.”

Now it was Stiles’ turn to chuckle. “Married a thief, did I?” He laughed into the phone. Derek chuckled back, “My husband and father in law taught me well. I’m pretty sure possession is nine tenths of the law, or something like that.”

“We’ve created a monster,” Stiles sighed, as he rolled over. He looked at the chest of drawers that held his t-shirts and wondered. “Which one’d you take?” He asked on a yawn.

“An old one. From the first department family and friends barbeque.” Derek responded, almost immediately. “I like that shirt!” Stiles whined. He got a laugh in response. “I know. You wear it a lot. That’s why I took it.”

Stiles nodded, then hummed when he remembered Derek couldn’t see him.

“This is nice,” he blurted before he could lose his nerve. “We should do this. Why don’t we do this anymore?”

Derek sighed again. “It’s what…7:30 there? I’d be at work already. The only reason I’ve got time now is because of the time difference…and we’re still cutting it close. You’ve gotta be in the shower any minute now, don’t you?”

“I’ve got a while,” Stiles responded, feeling defensive. “I just…maybe we could do it at night?” He suggested, and Derek went quiet. “I don’t know if I could get off work at a decent time, sometimes you’re asleep when I get back. I’m working on it, but—“

“You’re working on it,” Stiles said, firmly. “That’s…it’s enough, Der. I know I don’t tell you. But…you’re trying and I really…appreciate it, I guess. I’m glad that we’re trying.”

Derek didn’t say anything, Stiles didn’t think there was much he could say.

“How ‘bout this?” He forged on, sitting up, “How about we pencil it in? Like counseling. Just…we’ll start off with once a week. And you’ll just leave an hour early. Once a week. An hour earlier than you normally would. Doesn’t matter when. And if I’m asleep when you get here just…wake me up.”

“Stiles…you work hard too. You need to rest.” Derek chided softly.

“I need to be married. I need to be _happily_ married,” Stiles snapped, and the line went silent.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry. I just…it’s okay, alright? It’s okay for you to wake me up. I want this. I want us to be us again, Der. I want that so bad…”

“We could…I could probably make it work on Tuesdays. It’ll be easier when Camden and the boss are back. I’ll figure it out. I’ll head out early Tuesdays. Is that okay?”

Stiles sighed and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect. You’ll wake me up?”

“Yeah. If you want. You’re always cranky when you’re woken up.” “

Yeah. I am. But you’ve always been able to fix that.” His lips curved up into a half smile. He glanced over at the clock.

“Shit, Der, it’s 7:45. I gotta go.” He said, scrambling out of the bed to grab some clothes for the day.

“Alright. I’ll, uhm…d’you want me to…talk to you later?”

“Tonight?” Stiles let out, feeling the hope surge up in his belly.

“Whenever. I’ll be here any time after six. Just, call me, okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek sighed. “Yeah, I will.”

“Cool. Have a good day. Good luck with the Kardashians.”

Derek snorted, but wished him a good day as well before they disconnected the call.

* * *

 

Derek was still smiling when he pulled his rental car into the driveway of the sprawling Hollywood Hills Mansion. The matriarch of the family had demanded they meet at home, where prying eyes weren’t watching. He was certain he’d seen a camera or two on his way in, but he doubted seriously anyone would want pictures of little old him.

He rang the doorbell once and was greeted by a perky brunette who introduced herself as Candace, and led him through the house. They ended up at the doors to what looked like an office. “It’ll be right through here, Mr. Hale,” she said brightly, and then she knocked on the door twice and opened it.

Derek didn’t know what he’d been expecting when he walked through the double doors, but it definitely wasn’t this. There were four women spread throughout a well decorated room. One of them was sitting on a couch, crying silently, another was sitting next to her, trying to console. The third, an older woman who must be their mother, was sitting behind a huge oaken desk, watching him as he entered. The last, and undeniably the most beautiful, was sitting in the far corner, in an armchair near the window. She looked bored and above it all.

“Ah,” the oldest woman rose, coming around the desk, “You must be Mr. Hale. It’s a pleasure to have you. I’m Kris. And these are my girls: Khloe, Kim, and Kourtney.” She motioned to the women.

Khloe and Kourtney were on the couch, but he couldn’t tell exactly who was who. The one who was crying didn’t look up, but the other one gave him a glance and a quick smile, before returning to her sister.

The third, Kim, rose gracefully and sauntered over. “Hi,” she purred, “I’m Kim. And you are _gorgeous_.”

Derek smiled at her and fought off a blush. He held up a hand, showing off his ring. “And married, but thank you. I’m Derek Hale. It’s nice to meet you.”

“A married divorce lawyer?” She pouted, “no fun.” He directed his eyes at their mother again.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Jenner, who exactly am I helping?” He asked, feeling a little like a lamb in a den of lions.

“Ah, yes. That’d be Khloe,” she gestured towards the woman crying on the couch. “Khloe!” she fussed, “cut it out. You knew this was coming. Fix your face and let’s get to business!”

The woman looked up, momentarily narrowing her eyes at her mother, then she glanced over at Derek.

“He is pretty,” she chuckled, running a tissue under her eyes. Her sister, Kourtney, he assumed, laughed with her. Kim rolled her eyes a bit.

“I’m going to go see if North needs me,” she announced, as she moved to sail out of the room. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Hale,” she tossed over her shoulder as she left.

“All mine,” he murmured under his breath. Kourtney rose soon after. “I’ve actually gotta run, too.” She said, looking guilty. Khloe shooed her away, though. “It’s fine,” she said, sniffling. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. Go get the boys.”

Kourtney smiled and squeezed her shoulder before ducking out of the room, shooting him an absent glance on the way.

Kris cleared her throat. “Would you like to sit, Mr. Hale?”

Derek nodded, sitting in a thickly cushioned chair directly facing the couch. Kris returned to her perch behind the desk. Khloe looked up and shot him a watery smile. “Hi. I’m Khloe,” she said, and he nodded and smiled back at her. “I’m sorry about all this,” she continued, gesturing to her face, “I’m just…I’m having a bit of a hard time.”

“It’s fine,” Derek said, making sure to be gentle. “Everyone handles this differently.”

“No, she should apologize,” Kris laughed from her desk, “she’s been crying for days. It’s embarrassing. I keep telling her,” she shot a sharp look at Khloe, “to suck. It. Up. No one has time for these little girl’s games. Least of all her, but she can’t seem to get it through her thick skull that this is business.”

Khloe looked ready to fall into a fresh wave of hysterics, and Derek barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. “Mrs. Jenner?” He asked, directing his kindest smile at her, “is there any way Khloe and I could have some privacy?”

Kris’ eyes shot to him, narrowing. “Whatever would you need that for?”

He maintained his smile, though it started to feel a little strained to him, “Attorney client privilege.”

“Oh,” Kris scoffed, “She waives that.”

Derek turned skeptical eyes on Khloe. “I’d need to hear that from her.”

Kris looked at Khloe expectantly, but she just looked at her lap, wringing her hands. Her hair fell prettily over her face, shielding her from her mother’s piercing glare.

“Seriously?” Kris asked, exasperated. She directed her glare back to Derek. “It doesn’t matter. I’m the one paying you. I’m your client. She’s just…Khloe.”

“Oh,” Derek said, turning in his chair so that he was facing her, “Are you getting a divorce?” He kept his tone mild, and his face even. She huffed at him anyway. “No, I’m not.”

“Then you’re not my client.”

“Then you’re not getting _paid_ ,” she spat, face twisting in anger. Derek shrugged, and went to gather his things.

“Stay,” Khloe said quietly from her spot on the couch.

“I’m not paying him, Khloe,” Kris raged, “I can find someone more cooperative than this.”

“Exactly.” Khloe replied, looking at her mother for the first time. Their stare held for a long while, and when Kris deflated, it was only by a bit.

“Stay,” Khloe said again, turning back to Derek. “I’ll pay you myself. Mom, could you give us a minute?”

To say the woman stormed out of the room would be an understatement. The doors rattled so hard with the force of her exit, Derek was surprised the wood didn’t splinter. “She’s…formidable.” He supplied, and Khloe giggled. “She’s terrifying. It’s good though.” She sighed. “It takes a special kind of person to get past her. She hates Scott, Kourtney’s boyfriend. Hates Kanye. She loved Lamar. He worshipped the ground she walked on. I should’ve known, honestly.”

Derek leaned forward, “You want to tell me what happened?”

She shrugged. “It just…I work here, mostly, and sometimes in Florida. Doing appearances and mall work, and I’ve got a little bit of input into the clothing line, so sometimes I’m in New York. And Lamar…my husband, he plays basketball. It was fine when he was playing here, but then he got traded to Dallas and the whole thing just kind of…” she sighed. “We talked about before he left, we both agreed I couldn’t move to Dallas. But the Mavericks had just come off a title, they were riding high, and he’s a professional athlete. He wanted to be on the winning team. Coming from the Lakers?”

She paused, taking a deep breath to collect herself. Derek waited patiently, but he felt the same pang when a case hit too close to home for him.

Khloe took a shuddering breath, “There were women, and drugs, and he just…he fell into that. And everything went downhill from there. His play suffered. Our relationship got worse, his play suffered more. He got demoted to D League. It all just kinda fell apart. And with my family, my mother…Once he wasn’t a spotlight NBA basketball star anymore, she didn’t want me with him. She said terrible things to him, and he said terrible things back, but in the media…it all got out of control. And I wish I could just talk to him…that we could just…”

And there it was, the infamous just. Derek knew better than most that it didn’t work that way. He sighed.

“Khloe,” Derek said gently, “Do you want a divorce?”

“No,” she murmured, “But he’s already filed.” She was looking in her lap again.

“I’m assuming there was a prenuptial agreement?” She nodded.

“So then I don’t understand exactly what you need from me. I’d be happy to work with you but…”

“He’s in Spain.” Khloe blurted. “He’s in Spain and he’s got this asshole attorney harassing me for paperwork and documents and--" She sighed. "Some of the stuff he’s asking for the in the divorce is shit we bought together and I want some of it. We’ve got a house in Tampa Bay that I _love_ , and I want it, and some of the cars. There’s shit we’ve gotta figure out. But he’s not _here_. He’s in fucking Spain, and he doesn’t have to look at me, or deal with this, he just gets to call his lawyer and snap his fingers and get his way. And I just…I just want…”

“You want someone to harass him,” Derek said, mouth curling into a smile.She glanced up at him and nodded, grinning a little as well.

“I can do that.” Derek said easily, pulling a piece of legal paper and placed it on the coffee table that separated them.

“Write down everything he wants, and as much of his lawyer’s information as you can recall. Do you have a copy of the divorce papers on you?”

* * *

 

From: Hubby O’Mine

_I fucking miss you._

Stiles stared at the text for longer than he should’ve, trying to remember the last time Derek had sent him anything like it. Anything this raw and honest.

To: Hubby O’Mine

_Are you alright?_

Something had to be wrong, Stiles reasoned, for Derek to be acting this way so suddenly. Derek’s reply was almost instant.

From: Hubby O’Mine

_Do you have a minute?_

Stiles looked up, around at the station which was bustling with activity. Erica met his eyes and smirked, jerking her head towards the door. He took it as an invitation to dip out, call his husband.

“What’s wrong?” He asked immediately, and Derek sighed.

“Nothing. Nothing. Divorces are depressing as hell, you know that?” Derek said, words slurring a little.

“Are you drunk?” Stiles asked, and Derek laughed. “Only a little. I’m in LA! I can see the beach from here. We should take a vacation here. It’s nice.”

Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle. “Next year. Tell me about the case you’re on out there.”

Derek sighed, “It’s sad. Divorces are sad. I don’t think I like them much at all.” “

Says the guy who spend his whole life around them. You could’ve been a prosecutor, you know. We could’ve been like a team of superheroes. But no. You’ve gotta make sure there’s a fair and equitable division of assets or whatever.”

“City prosecutor would’ve been twice the work and half the money.” Derek said reasonably.

“Blah, blah, blah. Superheroes, Der. We could’ve been superheroes.”

There was silence for a while, before Derek continued.

“D’you want that? Really? For me to take a job with the city? Help you put away bad guys?”

Stiles was stunned. “Is that what _you_ want?”

Derek sighed. “This thing I’m working on, the guy was just chasing his dream, you know? Just chasing his dream, and his marriage got further and further behind him. And you know what? In the end, he didn’t even get it. He’s playing in Spain now. He’s all alone in some country where he doesn’t even speak the language, and they’re getting divorced and it’s…it’s sad, you know?”

Stiles nodded, “You feel like that’s what’s happening with us? Chasing our dreams and leaving our marriage behind?”

“The dream isn’t the dream unless our marriage is in it, Stiles. You know that, right? I don’t want…I don’t want anything without you. I met the fucking Kardashians today, and I don’t even care. I just want to come home. I want to fix this.”

Stiles was quiet, a shocked pleasure filled him and he couldn’t figure out a single thing to say.

“Stilinski!” Erica called, popping her head out of the door. Stiles spun to face her, trying and failing to school the wide grin on his face. She chuckled at him.

“I hate to break you love birds up, but you’re needed inside. There’s a new guy.”

He held up a finger, and she nodded and headed back inside.

“Der,” he said softly, and Derek made a sound of agreement. “I heard.”

“You’ll still call me later?” Stiles asked, voice hopeful.

“You still want me to?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles breathed, and Derek chuckled.

“Then I’ll call you. I’ll probably be back sometime tomorrow. It’s not gonna be much more here.” “

Alright. Be safe, I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon, Stiles,” Derek said tenderly. But it sounded like something else entirely.

Stiles was warm and happy when he walked back in. He watched on idly asCaptain Finstock stood in the middle of the bullpen. With him was a tall, lanky blonde with eyes that Stiles could tell were candy apple green from the front door of the precinct.

“Damn,” he whispered to Erica, who’d appeared at his side like she had a tendency to do, “Where do they make those?”

“I thought you and the hot divorce lawyer were figuring it out?”

“Thought we didn’t talk about that?” Stiles snapped, then he sighed and smiled. “We are. But that doesn’t make me blind.”

“True that. You’ll get to enjoy the view for a while. Cap’s picked you to show him the ropes.”

“Me? What the fuck, why me?” Stiles whined. He hated giving tours. Erica poked at his still sore shoulder.

“’Cause you’re the one with a disability.”

“It’s out of the sling!” He cried out, and a few heads turned, so he quieted. “I can shoot people and everything!”

“Stilinski!” Finstock cried as he motioned towards Stiles. He nodded at Erica before weaving through the crowd to wear the Captain was standing.

“Stiles Stilinski, this is Jake Parrish. He’s new to the force, and I’d like you to show him the ropes for the next few days.”

“Sure thing, Cap,” Stiles said, smiling and turning to the new guy, Parrish, whose eyes were a million times worse up close.

He held out a hand to shake, and Stiles took it. “Welcome to the Force,” he found himself saying, and Parrish nodded. “Glad to be here.”

* * *

 

Stiles had never been so glad to get back home in his life. He toed off his shoes and almost jogged upstairs, eyes flicking to his phone every other minute. Derek hadn’t called yet, and Stiles wanted enough time to catch a shower before he did. He didn’t want to have to do it after they got off the phone. He kind of wanted to fall asleep with Derek breathing down the line, like they had when Derek had been in law school at Northwestern and Stiles had been at UC Davis. They had some good memories from those times.

Showering quickly, he was completely ready for bed less than thirty minutes later. He dove into bed, snuggling under the blankets and forming his caccoon. Two minutes later, he felt a little like an idiot, wrapped up in his blankets at 6:45, doing absolutely nothing. He considered going downstairs, getting a beer, maybe watching some tv and waiting for Derek.

A beer sounded good, actually, he thought, and he jogged downstairs to get one, phone in the pocket of his sweats so he didn’t miss the call. He brought it back upstairs with him, a rare luxury because he might not be the best at taking the bottles out of the room when he was done with them. Maybe to the point that Derek had banned drinking in the bedroom.

He propped himself up against the headboard on his side of the bed this time, beer perched on his nightstand.

His phone rang at exactly 7:07. Stiles laughed as he answered. “You are so incredibly corny.”

He could hear the smile in Derek’s tone as he replied. “I thought you might appreciate the symmetry.”

“Ooh,” Stiles responded, still smiling, “Big words now. So I guess you’re sober now?”

Derek groaned, and Stiles could see him running his hand over his face like he did when he was embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, no, that was great. I’m glad you did. I’m….I don’t understand why this is so much easier over the phone. Why’s it so hard when we’re together?”

Derek sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe, hopefully it carries over? We weren’t doing too bad when I left, right?”

“No. We weren’t. It’s definitely getting better, I just…”

“Yeah,” Derek said, and he let out a sad chuckle. “Just.”

“Lets talk about something else. Tell me about the Kardashians.” The laugh Derek let out next was genuine. “They’re terrifying. You’ve heard enough about my day, though, actually. Tell me about yours.”

“Mine didn’t have any Kardashians in it! Did you meet Kanye?”

“What’s a Kanye?”

“Oh my God, how did I marry you?”

“Tell me about your day, Stiles. How’s crime in Chicago?”

“The same. Murder capital of America and all. Oh, but there’s a new guy…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's short! But the next chapter is the last one & it'll be longer I swear. K I love you buhbye!


	4. Never Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys have to work through a misunderstanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....Sorry.

Derek stayed on the line long after Stiles had drifted off, listening to his husband’s wet breaths and sleepy murmurs. He smiled, but something in his chest tightened. The sheets of the hotel bed felt cold and over starched on his skin and all he wanted was to be at home. To be able to reach out and run a hand through Stiles’ sleep tousled hair. He could now, he thought. He could reach out and touch his husband and be welcome. They’d finally gotten to that place, and Derek was on the other side of the country.

Out of habit, Derek slid out of bed quietly, as though not to wake his sleeping partner. He got dressed quickly, and packed the small number of things he’d brought with him in a hurry. He had planned on leaving tomorrow, after a wrap up breakfast with Khloe, but that seemed too far away now.

Despite the hour, he shot her a quick email explaining that he was having a family emergency and would need to leave LA early. He let her know that if she had any questions or concerns she was welcome to call him and he’d get back to her as soon as possible.

He got a cheery, “Ok! Hope all is well,” response within fifteen minutes. Apparently Kardashian business hours went well after midnight.

With everything packed, he went back to his phone, pressing it to his ear and smiling at the even breaths that greeted him on the other line. It was a homecoming of its own, to hear that sound and know that it was waiting for him, welcoming him.

His smile turned bittersweet as he disconnected the line. As much as he’d love to just sit up and listen to Stiles’ sleep, it’d be better if he could get home in time to surprise him the next morning.

\----------

Derek’s best laid plans fell apart when he reached the airport. There weren’t any flights out for three hours. It was just short enough that there was no sense in getting another hotel room, but just long enough that he was bound to be uncomfortable.

He grumbled to himself for hours. This was not how it went in romantic comedies (not that Derek watched those, or anything). In romantic comedies, when someone wanted to make a grand romantic gesture, the universe gave him a plane that left immediately.

But that didn't happen for Derek.

The plane that should've left after three hours ended up delayed another two hours. Something had gone wrong with the air conditioning system. Once it was finally repaired, and the plane was in the air, the whole ride turned out to be miserable. A fierce electrical storm brewing over Colorado caused awful turbulence for an hour. It upset the eight week old twins on the flight for the duration of the flight.

By the time he landed, Derek was harried, irritable and desperate. He made it to long term parking, where he’d left the Range Rover, only to find that the passenger side scratched all to hell. A heated debate with a parking attendant had ended with Derek receiving the company policy in curt tones. “We are not responsible for any damage done to your vehicle, Mr. Hale,” the young man had said. His voice practically voice dripping with condescension. “I’m sure you’ll be able to file a claim with your insurance company. We’re very sorry for the inconvenience.”

Derek ended up pulling into his driveway a little after nine thirty. His plan for waking Stiles up was shot, the younger man had been at work for the better part of an hour now. As much as Derek wanted to drive over to the precinct and surprise him, he knew he wasn’t in the right frame of mind for it at this point.

Instead, he carried his things into the house, and poured himself into a hot shower. When he got out, he decided against clothes and just collapsed onto the bed, soaking up Stiles’ scent from the sheets. He groaned, the need to see his husband starting to burn through him. He shifted, gasping as his cock dragged against the terry cloth of his towel and started to fill.

Derek stayed still for a long moment, willing his erection down. His traitorous mind kept flashing to how long it’d been since he’d had Stiles under him. How long since he’d punched delicate, mewling sounds out of that heart shaped mouth. How long since he’d winced in the shower at the burn from scratches down his back. Since he’d seen Stiles, sloppy and open, skin flushed the color of something ripe and his for the taking.

Groaning again, he rolled over onto his back and let the towel fall open. He ran a tentative hand down his chest, breath stuttering when he caught a nipple, before trailing further down to wrap around the base of his dick. He hissed at the contact, eyes rolling back in his head, lids fluttering shut as he let himself remember the last time.

They’d only been back from vacation a few days, and everything had still been desperate and good between them. He remembered Stiles’ eyes, gone all feverish and vulnerable as he pulled Derek closer, teeth nipping at his ear, the soft skin under his jaw, begging.

_Derek, please._

Just the thought of that whined out plea had Derek bucking up into his hand, a curse slipping between gritted teeth. He remembered the way the taut muscles in Stiles’ stomach had fluttered. The way he’d pressed finger shaped bruises into Stiles’ hips, how Stiles had loved it, arched up into it, wordlessly asking for more.

Derek’s hand started moving over his cock in earnest now. Other hand pinching and prodding at his nipple. The smell of him and Stiles rose up all around him, made his head loll to the side, nose pressed closer to the sheets. His eyes went heavy and half lidded.

His own blood was a hot rush in his ears, and insistent pulse in his dick. It tapped out a staccato beat against the palm of his hand, begging to be touched. He squeezed around himself a little tighter, then released, thinking of the way Stiles’ hole would clench up around him, milking his orgasm out.

And he was so close. A pearl of precome beaded at the tip of his cock, and he smeared it over the head as he stroked himself a little harder, a little faster. He imagined what he’d do when he got his hands on Stiles’ again. How he’d kiss him until his lips were swollen and warm. How they may not even make it home. How long it’d been since he’d had his husband in the back of his truck, since he’d guided that tight little ass onto his dick in the backseat. The way Stiles always wrapped his whole body around Derek, whispered the filthiest things in his ear, the unimaginable heat of Stiles gliding around his cock and keeping him there, holding him like it was where he belonged—

Derek came on a shuddery moan, come spilling onto his hand, a small bit spraying his stomach. The orgasm rocked through him, leaving every one of his muscles loose and sated. He barely managed to clean himself up with the Kleenex they kept by the nightstand before dozing off.

When he woke up, it was almost noon. Cursing, he reached for his cell phone and dialed from memory.

“Reyes,” his husband’s partner barked into his ear.

“Erica,” he mumbled, still sleepy.

“Hot divorce attorney! How’re you doing?”

“Been better. Any idea where I could find Stiles?”

“Uh, no. He’s showing the new guy the ropes today. He was whining about pizza earlier. It’s around lunch. But I can’t be sure. Want me to call him?”

“No, no thank you. I wanted it to be a surprise. I’ve got an idea, though. Thanks Erica.”

“No problem, cutie. I’m glad,” she paused for a moment, “I’m glad you guys are doing better.”

Derek smiled. “So am I. Thanks again, Erica.”

“Anytime, sweetie,” she said, and they disconnected the call.

Derek rose, threw on his clothes in a hurry, and jogged out to the car.

\---------------

Balducci’s on 3rd and Wabash was the first pizza place Derek and Stiles went to after moving to Chicago. Derek thought they could find better, but Stiles was in love. He brought Allison when she’d moved, and Isaac when the two had first started dating. So it figured that if he was craving pizza, and he had the new guy in tow this is where they’d be.

The trouble with a place like Balducci’s is that is was impossible to find parking. Normally they either walked over from Derek’s office or took the L train from the house.

Derek was circling the block for the third time when he saw them. Stiles had his back against the red brick wall in the alley outside the pizza place. His eyes were squeezed shut and his hands clenched and released at his side. A slightly taller, sandy blonde man, also in uniform, was standing with his arms on either side of Stiles’ head, boxing him in. Their lips were pressed together tightly. Derek could catch glimpses of Stiles’ wedding ring glinting with the nervous movement of his hands.

Derek’s heart didn’t clench. His stomach didn’t bottom out. He didn’t feel sick. A strange numbness settled over him, and it was like he was watching someone else. Like watching someone that wasn’t his husband being pressed against a wall and kissed senseless.

A car honked behind him, and Derek blinked twice before he shook his head and drove back home.

\---------------

Eight days later, Allison blew into his office like a whirlwind, settling herself into the chair across from his desk.

“Stiles called me,” she said, leveling earnest brown eyes at him.

“Yeah?” Derek grunted, never taking his own eyes off of his screen.

“Yeah, Der. He called me and he said you haven’t spoken to him since you got back from LA. Like, not a single word.”

Derek nodded, still typing steadily. “I try to just not be in the house at the same time. Makes it easier.”

“What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?” Allison hissed, and Derek heard the arch in her eyebrow without even looking. He sighed and pushed away from his desk.

“It’s my fault. Stiles doesn’t want to be married to me. He asked for a divorce and I should’ve…I should’ve just fucking given it to him. Instead of all this trying and failing. Dragging it out isn’t helping anybody.”

“Derek,” Allison said softly, leaning forward, “Stiles doesn’t want a divorce. You guys are doing so much better. Isaac says you even took a personal day a few weeks ago. That you’re buying nursery furniture? Come on, tell me what’s really going on.”

“He doesn’t want me, is what’s going on!” Derek yelled, exploding. “He doesn’t want me and I can’t make him so what’s the point?!”

Allison shook her head and rose. “If you’re so sure what he does and doesn’t want, the least you could do is look him in the face and tell him! Instead, you're hiding out here like a fucking coward.”

Furious, Derek opened his mouth to protest, but Allison kept talking. “I’ve seen you two, my whole life I’ve been watching you, trying to figure out what love really is, what it looks like. I’ve seen trying, a lot of trying, but I’ve never seen any failing. Not from either of you. And when Stiles did want a divorce? Because he did, once, but when he did, he didn’t call me, crying, and ask what he’d done wrong, or how he could fix it. If he didn’t want you, he wouldn’t be asking me how he could fix it, Der. I don’t know what the hell’s going on with you, but you need to talk to your husband.”

“No. I don’t.” Derek said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Until you get a divorce, you’re still under vows Derek. Better or worse. Richer or poorer. Sickness and health. Call him.”

She was still shaking her head when she walked out.   
Derek deflated, falling back against his desk chair. He felt wrung out, like a sponge drained of his last drop of water. Stiles had called Allison and asked how to fix it? Because he’d decided that making out with his new cop boyfriend was a mistake? Because he’d dipped his toe back into the world of casual dating and found out he didn’t like it? So now he wanted to scurry back and act like everything was okay? Like nothing had ever happened? It was ridiculous and insulting and Derek was _right_ , damn it. He was right to be angry and hurt. He was right not to want to talk to Stiles, or look at Stiles or deal with Stiles and his _needs_ right now.

But Allison was right. He did take a vow. And he took his vow seriously, unlike his philandering husband. 

_Forsaking all others_ , he thought bitterly as he pulled out his phone.

To: Stiles

Could you meet me at my office? Tonight, around 7:30?

From: Stiles

Is everything ok?

To: Stiles

Can you just meet me?

From: Stiles

Yeah. Sure. Ok.

Derek went back to checking his emails with a ball of dread settled in his throat. It was going to be a long day.

\--------------------

When Stiles showed up, it was about seven thirty and the office was empty. He knocked twice on the door of Derek’s office, but didn’t come in, opting instead to lean up against the jamb and wait. Derek’s eyes trailed over him. He hadn’t changed from work, a black Chicago PD t-shirt stretched taut over his shoulders, bunching around his bicep. His jeans were fitted, and his gun was still holstered at his waist. He was a long way from the skinny, defenseless kid Derek had fallen in love with all those years ago. Everything in Derek flared hot at the sight of the man he’d become.

That was, until his eyes made his way back up to Stiles’ face, and he saw the look of disgusted disbelief there. Here he was, ogling a man he hadn’t spoken to in a week. The heat in his belly curdled into nausea as he rose on shaky legs.

“I want to try something?” He started, voice rough. He stepped out from behind his desk. “I need you to sit here.” He motioned to his desk chair.

Stiles arched an eyebrow. “What the fuck is this, Der?” He asked, sounding tired. God, he sounded so tired and Derek couldn’t do anything but shrug.

“I think I’m in a different mindset when I’m on that side of the table? It’s…it’s an exercise. Would you just…” Derek trailed off, trying not to let the frustration bubbling up in his throat spill out and over.

Stiles seemed to sense this, like he always did, so he shrugged and made his way over to the other side of the office. Careful not to touch Derek as he passed, he settled himself down into Derek’s leather chair, and waited. As if snapping out of a trance, Derek hurried to sit in the chair opposite him. It was different from this side, he realized immediately.

“Well?” Stiles asked, eyes still squinted, brow still arched in derision.

Derek sighed and mulled over his words for a moment, trying to remember to the best of his ability.

“I need an attorney,” he said, hating the taste the words left in his mouth. “I’m filing for divorce.”

Stiles paled. “Derek,” he breathed, but the older man just shook his head.

“There’s a pen and pad there. Write it down.” He pleaded. Stiles picked up the pen. Derek had left a bit of a script there for him, and his eyes widened as he noticed it.

“That’s…a big step.” He read off, making panicked eye contact with his husband. “Are you sure your marriage isn’t salvageable?”

Derek did what Stiles had done on that night, looked around at the pictures framed and lining his office, at all the happiness they’d had once. He tried to imagine a life where they had it again, and he couldn’t. Shrugging, he wondered if this was how Stiles had felt then, if this was the pain he’d been living with.

“Pretty sure,” he mumbled. “We’ve tried everything. And things seem to get better for a while, but in the end, they just end up going back to the way they were.”

  
Stiles made a helpless sound, but Derek motioned to the pad and, dutifully, Stiles wrote it down. **_LONG TERM ISSUES_**. Derek read it upside down in Stiles’ graceful, loopy scrawl. He nodded in approval.

“I know some of it’s my fault. Hell,” he scrubbed a hand over his face, “maybe most of it’s my fault. I don’t talk to him like I should. Don’t tell him all the things I should tell him. I guess I just assume he knows. It’s been so long. But I think he might…just be tired. Of filling in the gaps for me. Of having conversations by himself all the time. I can take responsibility for that.”

“It’s not,” Stiles stuttered, eyes filling. “It’s rarely…” he glanced down at the bad and then wiped at his eyes. “It’s almost never just one persons fault,” he said finally. Derek nodded again as he watched him scrawl out **_POOR COMMUNICATION_** on the legal pad.

“I know. I just, I don’t know what happened. We were doing so well. I thought we were there. I thought this was over, that we were going to be alright again. We were in counseling and I thought it was helping. And then I went on a business trip and it all fell apart.”

“It fell apart on the business trip?” Stiles asked, voice skeptical, and Derek could hear the detective in him start to bleed through.

“It fell apart when I got back,” Derek clarified.

“What happened?” Stiles implored, leaning forward again, fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out and touch.

“I saw him…I saw him making out with a new guy from his job at a pizza place. At our pizza place, and I just…” Derek started, but Stiles was up and out of his chair, eyes hard with fury.

“Derek, no.”

The older man shook his head, “You have to let me finish. I’ve gotta get this out and you’ve gotta let me—“

“I _don’t_ ,” Stiles snarled, coming around the desk to stand directly in front of Derek. “I don’t because you don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“I **_do_**. And I get it, Stiles, I do. It’s been hard. And I haven’t made it any easier and you’re finished. You’ve found somebody who…who gets it, I guess. You’re the one who wanted a divorce in the first place and I can’t keep you anymore when you so obviously want out. I have to—“

“Shut _up_! You **_have_** to shut up. I’m not finished. I don’t want out. I don’t want a divorce, Derek! I didn’t kiss him!”

“I saw you,”

“You saw him kiss me! But I guess you missed the part where I decked him? I…” Stiles put his hands up on display for Derek, knuckles still bruised. “I beat the shit out of him. And then I reported him, and he got written up, and he’s on suspension, and I’ve been dealing with IA, because apparently breaking a guy’s jaw when he assaults you is excessive force? It’s been a fucking mess, and you. Stopped. Talking to me.”

Derek just stared for a long moment and Stiles’ bruised knuckles.

“You hit him?” he said quietly.

“Yeah, babe. I hit him a lot. I didn’t…” Stiles knelt down, so that he was eye to eye with Derek. “I don’t want him. I don’t want anybody but you. Dammit, Der, I love you. I love you, fuck, I don’t know why we stopped—“

Derek kissed Stiles, cupping his face and pulling him in. Stiles scrambled into his lap, flailing a little in an attempt not to tip over the chair. Derek chuckled, but then he was on him again. His hand stroked up Stiles' back under his shirt, reveling in the feeling of warm skin, the tiny bumps the moles raised on his back. Stiles arched into his touch like a cat, greedy and desperate for attention. He moved like he wanted this, like he missed this, and Derek wondered why he ever thought Stiles would want anyone else.

He moved away from Stiles' mouth to kiss down the pale column of his neck. Stiles tipped his head back willingly, tangled his fingers in the dark mass of Derek’s hair. His mouth was open and slack, soft, wet half moans coming out of it as Derek sucked marks into his skin. He rumbled in possessive appreciation when he saw the tracks his stubble left.

Stiles whimpered and ground down against Derek mindlessly, seeking friction. Derek pressed back up into him with a groan, hands sliding back down to grip his ass, press them closer together.

“S-shit,” Stiles stuttered. His hands flew to Derek’s tie, unraveling it with the practiced skill of someone who’d done it for years. It made Derek warm to think of.

Quick, nimble hands pulled his buttons free, but Stiles was shaking. He tore one, cursed, and looked up at Derek with eyes filled with fear. Derek cursed as well, and Stiles’ eyes widened until Derek’s hands closed over his own. “I don’t give a shit about the shirt, Stiles,” he reassured, voice low and shot through with arousal. 

Stiles shivered, ducked back in to kiss him again, sucking at his bottom lip. “We’re not going to stop again, are we?” He whispered, as he finished with the button-- peeled the shirt off Derek’s biceps.

Derek grunted, picked him up, and sat him on the edge of the desk. Looking him in the eye, he replied, “No, we’re not.”

Their kisses turn sloppy and desperate. Derek pulled Stiles’ shirt up over his head and tossed it across the room. He hastily moved picture frames and paperwork from behind his husband, clearing off space to lay him out across the desk. Stiles was gorgeous beneath him, flushed and breathing hard. His eyes sparkled with mischief and a want so keen it almost hurt Derek.

With shaking hands, Derek unfastened the holster at Stiles' waist. He came back quickly, fumbling with his belt, leaning down to suck a puffy nipple into his mouth. Stiles’ back bowed off the desk, as he pressed Derek’s mouth against his chest. He always had liked having his nipples played with.

Derek finally got Stiles’ belt undone, and made quick work of removing his jeans, getting them down to his ankles. He pressed sucking kisses into the juncture of Stiles' hip and thigh, making him moan.

“Lube,” he barked, and Stiles reached and twisted to pull out the bottle Derek has always kept in his desk drawer. He tossed it to Derek without looking, and the older man laughed as he caught it.

Derek licked a hot path up the underside of his cock, fondling his balls lightly. Still smiling, Derek swallowed him down easily, enjoying the salty hot taste of his skin. He sucked hard and fast, gripping Stiles’ hips with both hands when they started to buck off of the desk. Stiles moaned, hands reaching down to fist into Derek’s hair. They didn't push or pull, just stayed cradled there, like he needed an anchor to keep him from flying away.

Derek moved his hands away from Stiles hips slowly, grabbing the lube from the desk and slicking two fingers with it. He pressed them against Stiles’ hole, and just the pressure had Stiles gasping out his name, eyes squeezed shut. Derek sunk the first finger in, tongue still working at the head of Stiles cock, taking him down to the root intermittently.

The second finger sent Derek deeper, and Stiles cursed and groaned, writhing above him. Derek curled his fingers in, rubbing at the slick flesh he finds there, until he caught Stiles’ prostate. Stiles shouted, filled with bright, liquid pleasure that dragged over him like water over sand.

Stiles could feel his orgasm rising in him, ready to take him over. “Derek,” he moaned out in warning, “Derek, Derek fuck,” he panted, breathless. His eyes were shut tightly when Derek clamped a hand around the base of his cock, staving off his orgasm.

“Fuck!” Stiles cried and Derek chuckled as he rose.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re a dirty fucking tease Derek Hale. A dirty, dirty fucking—“

The blunt head of Derek’s cock pressed up against his hole, sinking in to where he was tight and lava-hot. Stiles hissed as he remembered being this full—how sharp and molten and good it was. When Derek bottomed out, Stiles felt the fabric of his suit pants against his ass. The realization that he didn’t even get all the way undressed sends another wave of rabid lust through him.

“Move,” he whined, and Derek, teeth gritted, complied.

\-----

After, when they’d curled up on the floor in front of Derek’s desk, Stiles whispered, “you never said it back.”

Derek snorted and kissed the back of Stiles’ neck. “I love you,” the soft spot below his ear, “I love you,” the place where his neck gave into his shoulder, “I love you.”

They laid in silence for a while.

“Do you think we’ll be okay?” Stiles asked, and the older man smiled.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an epilogue and that's all folks. Epilogue will be up on the 30th. Cross my heart.


	5. Get Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they all live happily ever after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have stayed with me through this incredibly painful story, you deserve this tooth rottingly fluffy epilogue. 
> 
> Like, seriously, if I'd made this as long as most of the chapters in this story, there would be no teeth left in your mouth at the end.
> 
> So, really, it's in service to you, the reader, that this chapter is so short.
> 
> (Also: to [Aevenien](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aevenien/pseuds/Aevenien), HAPPY BIRTHDAY!)

Sunlight poured into Stiles and Derek’s room, leaving Derek grunting as he awoke. He pulled the blanket up over his eyes and rolled towards Stiles who…wasn’t in bed. He listened until the sounds of the shower and Stiles’ truly awful singing filtered through the bathroom door. Derek sat up, comforter and sheets pooling around him, and grinned uncontrollably. Stiles only sang when he was happy. He hadn’t done it in entirely too long.

Rolling his eyes, Derek pushed himself out of bed, dragging on a pair of sweats. He ran a tired hand through his hair, and rapped twice on the bathroom door. “You dying in there?” He asked, corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile.

“Shut the hell up!” Stiles shouted back, before launching into a painful rendition of Taylor Swift’s “Love Story.”  
Laughing, Derek jogged downstairs into the kitchen. He pulled the steaks out of the fridge. They’d been marinating for two days. He transported them, as well as the burger patties out to the backyard, placing them on the shelf next to the grill.

Summer was high, and it was already getting hot out, despite it being well before noon.

Going back into the house, he got the ears of corn, and all the chopped vegetables. He opened a cabinet over the sink and frowned.

“Stiles!” He called out, noticing the shower had stopped while he was outside.

“Yeah?!” Stiles called back, stomping down the stairs.

“Where are the skewers?” He asked, eyeing his husband. Stiles’ hair was still wet, brown catching the light of the window behind him. He was wearing old jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt that showed off his throat in a way that was unfair. He also looked confused.

“Uh…you bought them? We talked about it. I have the text!” He said, fishing in his back pocket.

Derek huffed. “Yeah, and three texts later you have the one that says I wasn’t going to have time to pick them up and make therapy. Then I asked you to do it.”

Stiles froze, looking at the texts in his phone, mouth hanging open.

“Shit,” he winced, meeting Derek’s eyes. “Okay…I forgot. Don’t worry, though! I can fix it! I’ll go get them!” He said, making a beeline for the front door.

“Hold it, Stilinski!” Derek barked, and Stiles stopped, spinning around.

“You’re not getting out of helping set up. Ask one of those moochers coming over to bring them.”

Stiles arched an eyebrow. “And by moochers, I’m sure you mean our friends? Who we adore and appreciate and invited into our home?” He asked, walking back into the kitchen, and coming to lean against the kitchen island.

“Yeah,” Derek said, letting a shoulder lift and drop, “Them, I guess.”

Stiles chuckled and shook his head, “You’re impossible, you realize that, don’t you?”

Derek took a step forward, crowding into Stiles space. He leaned down to nuzzle into Stiles’ neck. “I missed you in bed this morning,” he murmured into the skin.

Stiles brought his hands up to card through Derek’s hair, tipping his head back to give the man better access.  
  
“Sorry?” He said, going slightly breathless and Derek started placing open mouthed kisses on his neck.

“Mmm, you should be. I had plans.” Derek said, moving up to suck at the flesh under Stiles’ ear. He smiled when Stiles shivered.

“Shame we don’t have time now,” Stiles moaned, dropping a hand to roam down Derek’s bare back.

“Says who?” his husband grunted in return. He lifted Stiles up and set him on the nearest counter, stepping between his legs.

“Uh…me, maybe?”

Derek jumped away at the sound of Erica’s voice. The blonde was standing just inside the back door, twisted grin on her face.

“Ugh, Reyes I hate you.” Stiles groaned, hopping down from the counter. The tips of Derek’s ears flushed pink and he wouldn’t make eye contact.

“You,” Stiles barked, pointing at him, “Go put on a shirt.”

Derek nodded. “Uh, hey Erica,” he stammered as he crossed through the kitchen to the stairs. Stiles watched after him as he walked up.

Once he turned his attention back to Erica, she was still grinning smugly. She let out a low whistle.

“Oh, shut up. That’s my husband you’re whistling at. Show some respect.”

“Sorry, sorry. But damn, Stilinski. Just…” she sighed and Stiles laughed. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he went to go meet her next to the door.

“Didn’t you check your texts? I asked you to pick up some skewers, we forgot them.”

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she glanced over it. “You sure did. Alright, I’ll go get ‘em.” She said, spinning back out the way she came.

“Try not to do the nasty in the kitchen while I’m gone!” She called out behind her, and Stiles saw Mrs. Bellowitz from next door’s head shoot up from her garden.

“Morning Marg!” He called out, with a wave and a tight smile. She smiled back just as awkwardly, returning to her gardening.

“This is my life,” Stiles lamented, going back into the kitchen to grab the cooler and start filling it with ice.

When Derek came down a minute later, he found Stiles grinning uncontrollably in the middle of their kitchen.  
The two men locked eyes, and Stiles started laughing.  
  
“This is our life,” Stiles repeated, eyes full of joy. And Derek couldn’t do anything but smile and nod at him.

 

* * *

  
  
Two hours later, their backyard was chaos.

“Food’s ready!” Stiles called out across the yard. People started scrambling for paper plates and shoving towards the grill.

“Hey! Hey! Can we get a line or something? Some kind of order, please!” Stiles laughed, and soon enough, a haphazard line formed, with Erica pressing her way to the front.

“I’m pretty sure I was standing there first,” Isaac grumbled.

“But I have a gun. Do you have a gun?” Erica smirked, glancing back at him.

A pout was the only word for the look on Isaac’s face. “Allison’s trained in the crossbow,” he mumbled.

“Then Allison should also be in front of you,” Erica concluded, winking at Allison, who laughed and gave Isaac a peck on the cheek. “I’m sure there’s enough food for everyone,” she said, rubbing his shoulders to soothe him. He nodded and smiled at her dopily.

After the three of them had gotten their food and drifted off, Boyd was next in line. “The blonde,” he said, holding his plate out for a burger patty, “she single?”

“Yup,” Stiles grinned, “She’s also very crazy.” Boyd looked after her, shrugged. “I like ‘em a little crazy,” he murmured, before wandering over to the picnic table on the deck.

Derek and Stiles smiled at each other as they made their own plates. Camden and Lydia had been invited, but otherwise it was just them, and this small group of people that made up their family.

Plates made, they settled down in matching lawn chairs on the grass, drinking beer and chatting with their friends.

Camden came through with his own rowdy group, greeting Derek with a big hug and a clap on the back. He offered up a six pack, which Stiles took graciously and went to go place in the cooler with the rest of their beverages. Next, he handed Derek a potted plant.  
Derek looked at it for a long time before accepting it.

“What’s this for?” He asked, trying to sound gracious. Camden blinked, looking around. “I thought this was a housewarming?”

Derek tipped his head back and laughed. Stiles jumped up from the cooler to turn and look, and Allison’s face melted into a mask of fondness. It was too rare that Derek laughed that way.

“No, man. We’ve owned this place for years, just wanted to have some friends together.” He said, still smiling hugely. Stiles came to the rescue, scooping the plant out of Derek’s hands.

“Thank you though, Camden. I’m sure we’ll find some place to put it.” He smiled. For the time being, the plant got placed on the banister separating the raised deck from the grass of the yard.

Camden laughed, trying to mask his awkwardness, before moving over to where Allison and Isaac were sitting. One of Camden’s friends ended up in a deep conversation with Boyd about small business ownership in Chicago. They left a short while after they came, Camden explaining that they’d actually had plans.  
“I just didn’t want to be that dick who didn’t come to a coworker’s house warming party,” he said, sheepish.

Derek grinned again, “no problem. See you Monday.”

“Actually,” Camden winced, “I’m out Monday. You think you and Isaac can hold it down?” Derek’s brow furrowed for a moment before he realized Isaac was at his side.

“Of course we can, Cam. Now get out of here. I heard something about girls in bikinis waiting.” Camden laughed and corralled his crew, they all said their goodbyes as they walked out.

“Nepotism is the only reason he’s employed,” Derek groused. Isaac laughed and clapped him on the back.

“According to him, graduating law school was his duty to the family. He never expected to work.” Derek nodded, Camden’s behavior had never indicated that was his intention.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Isaac said, voice dropping like it was a secret, “Dad plans on leaving the place to you.”

Derek’s eyes widened. “What?”

Isaac shrugged. “His kidneys aren’t getting better. He doesn’t think he’s gonna be able to come back. But the firm, screw Camden, the firm is his baby. He’s not gonna leave it to anyone who’s gonna run it into the ground. Not even his own son. And I’m not ready yet. Which leaves you.”

“Shit.” Derek breathed. “Shit, shit, shit,” he laughed, smile spreading over his face. “I’ve gotta tell Stiles!”

He ran up to the grill, wrapping himself around Stiles from behind. He whispered in his ear, “You’ll never believe what just happened.” Stiles hummed in question and relaxed back against Derek. Just as he opened his mouth to give Stiles the good news, his phone vibrated. Pulling it out, he glanced at it and cursed under his breath.

“Shit, I almost forgot. I got you a surprise.” He told Stiles instead. Stiles put the spatula down and turned to look at Derek.

“I’ll never believe that you got me a surprise?” He asked, and Derek smiled, “No. Two separate things. I’ll tell you the other thing later. For now, surprise, front porch, go.”  
Confused, but still smiling, Stiles made his way to the front of the house through the side gate. A yellow taxi was parked in front of the house, and out of it spilled Scott McCall and his wife, Kira.

“Holy shit!” Stiles shouted, running flat out to where his best friend was standing. The force of their embrace sent Scott staggering, but they didn’t fall. Scott’s arms wrapped around Stiles and held tightly.

“When did you—how are you, what the fuck are you doing here?!” Stiles said frantically, voice muffled by Scott’s shoulder.

His best friend laughed. “Derek said something about a barbecue, so, y’know, we got on a plane.” He shrugged, like it was just that simple.

Slowly, Stiles detached, turning to give Kira an equally huge hug.

“So what’s been going on with you guys? How’re the Catskills? How’s the preserve? How’s everything?!”

Kira started to babble about the interesting behavior they’d observed in the animals they cared for at the wildlife preserve they ran in New York. Stiles nodded seriously as he walked them back around the side of the house.

“Scott!” Allison cried, a little tipsy. The two of them had become great friends, claiming responsibility for Derek and Stiles’ relationship. They embraced warmly while Derek made Kira a plate.

After a bit of catching up with Allison, Scott meandered up to the grill to get his own plate. He placed a hand possessively at the small of Kira’s back.

“Beer! You guys need beer!” Stiles said, rummaging through the cooler. He held out two Millers. The couple hesitated, before Kira smiled and said, “I’ll pass actually. Do you guys have any water?”

Scott accepted his beer hastily, popping the gap and taking a large gulp from it.

Stiles’ eyes narrowed. “Water? You? Kira McCall, want water?”

“Yeah,” she giggled. Scott’s arms squeezed tighter around her middle, and Stiles’ narrow eyes went wide.

“NO FUCKING WAY!” He exclaimed. Scott broke out into a huge, proud grin.

Allison and Erica were talking about the differences in aiming guns and crossbows, but they both jumped when she heard Stiles' shout.

“What?” Allison said, jogging over, Isaac, Erica and a very quiet Boyd trailing along after her.

“They’re pregnant!” Stiles exclaimed again. “The fucking McCalls are having a baby! Oh my God, I’m gonna be Uncle Stiles! I get to be Uncles Stiles, right?” He asked desperately, eyes going back and forth between Scott and Kira. Scott nodded, “Of course man. Of course you get to be Uncle Stiles.”

“This calls for champagne!” Derek said, coming up to wrap his arms around Stiles from behind.

“Yes! Champagne! Totally!” Stiles laughed, rushing into the house to get some. He came back with two bottles, uncorking one and pouring for everyone. Derek handed Kira a bottle of water. She smiled and thanked him.

“A toast,” Allison said, raising her red cup up into the night. All the cups around her raised in response. “To…family. And life. And new beginnings.” She said, voice shaking.

“To new beginnings,” Derek seconded. The others murmured in assent as they drank.

The stars were coming out when Stiles collapsed on top of Derek in a lawn chair, almost spilling his beer.

“You drunk?” Derek asked, arms winding around him.

“No,” Stiles murmured sleepily. “Just happy.”

A slightly tipsy Erica stumbled over to the couple and stage whispered, “Who the hell is that?”

Stiles followed her gaze and elbowed Derek, laughing.

“That’s Boyd.” He said, and Derek cringed a little.

“’S a whole lotta man,” Erica said, voice dreamy.

“Yeah, well, you’re a whole lotta woman, remember?” Stiles responded with a smile.

“Don’t encourage her!” Derek hissed.

“Like there’s any stopping her,” Stiles replied, as Erica sauntered off to go introduce herself.

Stiles leaned in, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he murmured, laying a kiss to Derek’s neck, “This is our life.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And that's it! 
> 
> I hope I made up for all the pain I put you guys through. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Do you tumbl? I tumbl [here](http://theluckyouvegot.tumblr.com). Come hang out!


End file.
